


Autumn Term

by Celine_Lister



Series: Love In The Time Of Corona [3]
Category: Gentleman Jack (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Smut, i'm terrible with tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:55:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 34
Words: 132,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24280942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celine_Lister/pseuds/Celine_Lister
Summary: Anne and Ann adjust to life after their whirlwind romanced during the COVID lockdown. Fluff, smut, and shenanigans. Minimal to no angst here.
Relationships: Anne Lister (1791-1840)/Ann Walker (1803-1854)
Series: Love In The Time Of Corona [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1700641
Comments: 1141
Kudos: 429





	1. Appetizers

Everything had been open for several weeks by now, but Anne and Ann had yet to share a meal in a real restaurant. At first, they’d both been apprehensive of the overcrowding, and then Anne had started back at work, preparing for the new term. The days had slipped past, and Ann was starting to feel listless in the house without her. The staff had returned slowly, and she was enjoying getting to know Cordingley and Rachel and the rest. But it wasn’t the same; she missed her wife, the long hours they used to spend together, the endless days cooped up with nothing to do but love on each other. There was a time she’d felt stir-crazy, desperate for life to restart, but now Ann wanted to go back to the safe bubble of their quarantine. 

“When will you be home?” She’d whined as she watched Anne dress that morning. 

“Not sure,” Anne buttoned up her light blue shirt, “that cousin of yours is a real prick. He’s supposed to be on sabbatical, but he’s dragging his feet about everything for this new term.” She slipped a burgundy tie around her neck and sauntered to the edge of the bed. “And there are all these meetings for department heads, and new student orientation is next week, and -”

“Okay,” Ann soothed, knotting the tie carefully. She’d spent hours practicing so that she could do just this every morning. “You have so much on your plate, Pony. Maybe we could go out.”

“Yeah?” Anne tucked in her shirt. “When?”

“Tonight.” Ann smoothed her hands along those broad shoulders. “We’ve never actually been out together. And you deserve a break.”

“I’ll try.”

“I can arrange everything. Just be home by six.”

Anne nodded and kissed Ann in that quick, perfunctory sort of way. Sighing, Ann fell back into their sheets as Anne left the room. They were in a bit of a rut, weren’t they? They still had sex most nights, but it was unimaginative, bordering on stale. Of course, being with Anne was still exciting and hot and everything else, but she was so distracted by the start of the school year that they hadn’t had one of those long, steamy sessions in ages. Most nights they huddled together for a hurried release before Anne rolled off and started scribbling in her journal. 

They needed this, Ann decided, and she spent the entire day making plans. She made a reservation at the hotel restaurant in town, reserved a room upstairs, packed overnight bags, and chose outfits for both of them. It was a little cheesy, she knew, but she liked playing dress-up with Anne. She still wanted to take Anne to a proper store, but she’d ordered several things over the past few months. Anne now wore color more and more, and nothing made Ann quite so happy. 

By the time Anne’s Jeep rattled outside that evening, Ann was vibrating with excitement. She’d already put on her pale blue dress, fixed light makeup across her face, and styled her curls just so. The brown had grown out by now, and Ann’s blonde hair now fell past her shoulders. Already tugging at her tie, Anne swept into their bedroom, pecking Ann’s lips lightly before shucking her pants. 

“How was your day?” Ann leaned in the doorway of their closet. 

“Ridiculous.” Anne noticed the hangers positioned carefully at the edge of the rack. “Is this for me?”

“Unless you’d rather I wear it,” Ann teased. 

“Hmmm, maybe one day,” Anne purred. “You already look delectable as you are.”

Ann flushed and watched Anne slip the starched white shirt over her shoulders. She’d chosen a thin, grey knit tie, matching socks, and light brown brogues for her wife; the royal blue suit pants and jacket waited on the rack. 

“I’ve, uh, made two reservations.” Ann sat on the bed, feeling a tad nervous, afraid Anne might not have the time for the romp she had planned. “One, um, for dinner, and then one,” she licked her lips nervously, “for the night.”

“For the night?” A smile tugged at Anne’s mouth as she presented her tie for knotting for the second time that day. She was still in her boxer-briefs, the light pink ones Ann had ordered months ago.

“A room,” Ann said shyly, her hands moving fluidly. “Since it’s Friday, and… well, darling, I, um, I’ve been missing you.”

“Have you?” Anne’s eyes softened, and she seemed to still for the first time all day. “I’ve been working too much.”

“No,” Ann shook her head, never wanting to make her wife feel guilty for doing what she loved. “I just - I feel like we’ve been - I don’t know, I feel like we’ve been in a - I don’t know, a rut.”

“Really?” Anne’s brow creased, and her eyes narrowed. 

“Do you not -” Ann shook her head. “Forget it.”

“Hey, no,” Anne caught her chin, tilting her head back to meet Ann’s gaze. “What were you going to say?”

Ann bit her lip, nervous to express herself if Anne didn’t feel the same way. What if Anne was perfectly happy with their sex life? What if something was wrong with Ann? The sex they were having was fine, and Ann was just needy. She’d been spoiled by the lockdown, by the mind-blowing orgasms morning, noon, and night. It wasn’t realistic in the long run, was it? 

“Ann,” Anne urged, her dark brown eyes searching Ann’s face. “What is it?”

“Do you not feel like we’re - well,” Ann swallowed, “we’re not really exciting anymore?”

“What?”

“We used to -” Ann broke off, blushing, “we used to do it up against the wall and in the pantry and on the sofa. But since you’ve been back at work, it - I don’t know, it feels like all we do is follow a routine.” 

“A routine?” Ann couldn’t parse her wife’s tone.

“We brush our teeth, get into bed, we - you know - fairly quickly, then you pull out your journal, and it’s - everything is over.”

“Adney,” Anne sank onto the bed next to her. “I didn’t - shit, I didn’t even realize.”

“You didn’t realize our sex life had gone bad?” Ann said, an edge creeping into her voice. 

“I didn’t - I don’t know. I’ve been so caught up in everything, and - I haven’t been thinking.” Ann didn’t say anything, waiting for Anne to continue. “I’m sorry, darling. I’ve been preoccupied. It won’t - I won’t let it happen again.”

“Promise?” Ann took her hand and leaned her head on her shoulder.

“I promise.”

“Good,” Ann purred, pressing her lips to the underside of Anne’s jaw, “because I’ve already packed a few things for us.” 

“Oh yeah?”

“I want to try something different tonight.” Ann dared. She’d been thinking about this for a while - what better opportunity than a night away from the house? 

“Like what?”

“Guess you’ll have to find out.” 

Ann swung her leg over Anne’s lap and straddled her, cradling her head in her hands and catching her lips in a searing kiss. Anne’s hands settled naturally at her waist, her fingers digging into the soft lace of her dress. Rolling her hips, Ann deepened the kiss, slipping her tongue into Anne’s mouth. The warmth from Anne’s strong thighs radiated up toward her center, as one hand slipped under the skirt of her dress and up her bare thigh; already, this was more exciting than anything they’d done in at least two weeks. 

“When’s our reservation?” Anne breathed against her neck.

“7:30.” Ann tilted her head back as Anne’s hand covered her breast. 

Anne hummed, dropping her head to trace her lips across Ann’s neck, her shoulders, the tops of her breasts peeking out from her dress. Closing her eyes, Ann ran her hands along Anne’s neck and shoulders, losing herself to her wife’s hungry touch. 

“We’ll be late,” she managed, as Anne’s lips found her nipple through the fabric. 

Anne’s teeth closed around her breast for a moment, but Ann could tell she was checking the time. With a groan, Anne tipped her out of her lap and strode back to the closet. Ann swept past her, hustling to the mirror to check her hair and makeup. Not too messy, she decided as she reapplied her lipstick. She could hear Anne rustling into her socks and trousers, then she appeared in the mirror behind Ann, wrapping her strong arms around her waist. 

“I’m sorry.” Anne’s breath was hot against her neck. She peppered kisses along Ann’s rapidly flushing skin. “I’ve been too caught up in my own head.”

“It’s okay,” Ann breathed, leaning back into Anne’s solid form. 

“It’s not. But I’m going to make it right.”

Ann nodded, her eyes glued to their reflection: Anne’s arms around her middle, her teeth flashing as she sucked and nipped her way along Ann’s shoulder, Ann’s own hand tangling in those dark locks, the other moving back and forth across the cool fabric of Anne’s shirt. For several moments, they swayed there like this, a low fire building. And then Anne pulled away, shuffling into the closet. Ann exhaled, turning to watch her lace up her shoes; God, was it always so warm in here? She slipped on her heels, putting one hand on Anne’s shoulder for balance. 

“Oh my God,” Anne groaned as she slid on her suit jacket. 

“What?” 

“I don’t think I’ve seen you wear heels before.”

“No?” Ann grinned.

“Forget the restaurant.” She pulled Anne flush to her again. “Let’s stay right here. All night. Hell, all week.”

“Now, now, Pony,” Ann smoothed her collar and straightened her tie. “We’ve never had a proper date in a restaurant, and we’re going to tonight. And then we’ll pop upstairs and shag all night.”

“Is that a promise?” Anne purred as they left their bedroom. 

Ann laughed, and they said their goodbyes to the family. Climbing into the Range Rover, Ann let out a sigh of contentment. Soft music filed the SUV as Anne guided them along the narrow streets; it was nearly dusk, and the warm August sun slanted into the car, lighting a halo behind Anne’s head. She reached over and placed a hand on Ann’s thigh, just above her knee. They arrived just a few minutes early, and Ann shivered at the arousing sight of Anne tossing her keys to the valet with practiced nonchalance. Anne’s arm around her waist, she felt about a million feet tall. 

"We make a rather handsome couple." Anne studied their reflections in the restaurant's tall windows.

"Take a picture with me." Ann pulled her phone from her purse.

Anne sighed, but she pressed her face close to Ann's, right there on the sidewalk, their smiling faces filing the screen. Ann took a few, reviewed them, then sent the best to Anne. She held out her hand. Anne raised her eyebrow in question. 

"Give me your phone."

"Okay," Anne said slowly, unlocking and handing it over. 

Ann saved the new image and set it as her wife's background. She smiled, locked the phone, and held it up.

"I think we're a very handsome couple."

"I'll say," Anne grinned back at her. "Why haven't I done this sooner?"

"I don't know," Ann laughed, "your old lock screen was a map of Shibden, you big nerd."

Anne clicked her tongue and shook her head, steering Ann inside. 

"You know," she whispered, her breath hot in Ann's ear as she pocketed her phone, "this is a dirty trick; now I can barely concentrate. I feel like you're burning a hole in my pocket."

Ann blushed, laughing and nudging her rake of a wife as they approached the severe looking man behind a podium in the restaurant's entryway.

“Table for Lister,” Anne told the maître d’. 

“What if I had put it under my name?” Ann said softly as they were led to their table. 

“Lister _is_ your name,” Anne said with a squeeze of her hip, “or it will be.”

Ann flushed as they took their seats. They’d talked about name changes, and Ann was enchanted by the idea of becoming a Lister. It had never occurred to her to use “Walker” for the reservation. Anne knew her too well, and the arousing, possessive tone to her words made Ann weak in the knees.

“What will we toast to?” Anne asked, once their wine glasses had been filled. 

“To, uh,” Ann thought for a moment, “to getting out of ruts.”

Anne grinned as their glasses clinked together, her eyes already smoldering with that familiar flame. Exhaling slowly, Ann tried to steady her racing heart. Anne was doing that thing with her middle finger again, causing Ann to press her thighs more tightly together. How in the world was she going to survive a meal like this?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> I truly am overwhelmed by the response to the last chapter of Stay Home. I really can't tell you what your kind words and support mean to me, but please believe me when I say I am incredibly grateful. 
> 
> And you all have so many great ideas! Trust there are a lot of exciting things coming in this story. This one won't be day-to-day like the last two, and instead I'll focus on specific events in the fall after their out-of-the-ordinary summer romance. If y'all aren't sick of me, we'll hurtle along through the winter and into springtime too. Shoutout to firstdown for suggesting I organize it by semesters - thank you! Super helpful. 
> 
> So we'll have a few more chapters of Anne and Ann's date night, then we'll jump ahead in time to the next event. The beginning of this one based on that "twenty minutes dalliance while dressing" entry. A classic. 
> 
> I have to get up early the next few days, so you're getting these chapters earlier! Yay!


	2. Main Course

“Those two,” Anne nodded at a neighboring couple. “Dating, married, or affair?”

Their own table was tucked in a back corner, which had initially annoyed Anne; she wanted to show Ann off, the possibility of running into someone she knew, the chance to gloat and preen. But over the course of the meal, she’d come to appreciate it. They could see the rest of the dining room, and they were nestled together closely enough that Anne could sling her arm across the back of Ann’s chair, which she did now as she studied the couple across the way. They had a significant age difference - he with the grey hair and old-fashioned suit, her with the platinum blonde and constant checking of her reflection. Anne’s money was on dating, a bad first date perhaps. She took another bite of her steak and turned to Ann.

Who was absolutely ravishing, by the way. Her golden locks falling about her shoulders, the low cut of her blue dress, those light tan heels - it was everything Anne could do not to ravish her right there on the table. She was still nursing her guilt over Ann’s words at home; of course she’d been distracted, but she didn’t realize it had gotten this far. Her days were so hectic and busy that she was only allotting 30 or 45 minutes every night for her wife. The pressure of the department combined with the increasing pace of the improvements to Shibden to make Anne a bad partner. She just wasn’t focused, and, truthfully, she was exhausted by the time she crawled under the covers at night. Anne would never admit it, but her thoughts had, on at least one occasion, strayed to the booklist for one of her courses while her fingers were inside her wife. It wasn’t great.

Tonight would be different, she vowed, and so would the future. Ann needed to be her priority, not work, and she saw that now. This whole situation was unknown territory, for both of them, and they needed to tread carefully to avoid hurting each other. Or, really, Anne did. Ann seemed so much better at relationships; she was more thoughtful, more patient. Anne was still learning these skills, and unfortunately, she had fallen back into old habits - work, work, work. It wasn’t fair to Ann, and besides, she couldn’t have her wife growing bored of her before they were even married. That would never do. Anne was grateful for many of the ways that Ann had tamed her, but she certainly would not lose her edge in the bedroom. 

“Affair,” Ann said resolutely.

“Why?”

“Well, he’s got his hand on her knee, which seems awfully familiar, but she’s wearing a ring and he’s not,” Ann said thoughtfully.

“They could be married and he just doesn’t wear a ring.”

“Well, I don’t like that,” Ann nodded as if punctuating her point.

“No?” Anne smiled, enjoying this.

“No. I think if you’re married, you should wear a ring. You will, won’t you?” Ann turned to her, eyes suddenly worried.

“Of course.”

“Good,” Ann smiled and tilted her chin. Anne kissed her lightly. “I need everyone to know that you’re mine.”

“Don’t you think they will?” Anne turned back to her steak. “With the picture you’ve now put on the front of my phone.”

“Well, sure,” Ann said sweetly, “why do you think I did that?”

Anne laughed and shook her head, watching Ann lean forward to spear another forkful of salad. From this angle, Anne could almost see down the front of her dress. Almost. She had gotten a peek of black lace, but nothing more. Ann was always wearing these ridiculous, impossibly thin bras that made Anne absolutely wild; she wondered if her panties matched. 

“What are you thinking about?” Ann crossed her fork and knife over her plate, leaning back in her chair. 

“Do you want me to be honest?”

“Of course,” Ann furrowed her brow.

“I’m thinking,” Anne learned in close, dropping her voice, “about what color your underwear is.”

Ann flushed, her whole face turning that perfectly rosy pink; she bit her lip, suppressing a smile, then shook her head.

“You’re incorrigible.” 

Anne hummed, letting her eyes drift over Ann’s bust, across her narrow waist, to the pale curve of her knees, which were pressed tightly together. Then the knees were straightening, and Ann was hurrying out of the room, sending a wink over her shoulder.

Anne coughed, clearing her throat and getting the attention of their server. He brought the bill, and Anne put down her card, anxiously to know where Ann had disappeared to and why. She signed the check, then sat back in her chair, tapping her finger impatiently on the tablecloth. 

And then Ann reappeared, a vision in pastels and porcelain and gold. Had Anne really forgotten how incredibly beautiful she was? Anne had thought they were finding a balance, returning to normal life, shifting into a stable and mature relationship, but, really, she’d been a bit lazy. Let Ann go by the wayside. Prioritized the university and the estate over the goddess sharing her bed. In her youth, Anne had vowed that if she ever found a woman who loved her - really loved her - she would spend every moment of every day taking care of her and praising God for bringing them together. And now, after just a few months, Anne had allowed syllabi and course descriptions and flowerbeds to distract her. Not for the first time, Anne wondered if she was actually, properly stupid. How could she forget to worship this woman?

Her contemplation was interrupted by Ann leaning down to peck her on the cheek, one hand on the table, the other brushing across Anne’s lap. Looking up quizzically, Anne watched her sit down and cross her legs, a self-satisfied smirk on her face. Ann tilted her head toward Anne’s lap; following her gaze, Anne looked down.

Against the crisp blue of her pants was a strip of black lace. Anne looked up in surprise, dropping her hand into her lap to cover the still-warm panties. Ann was smiling serenely, and then Anne felt it - they were damp. 

“Holy shit, Adney,” Anne breathed, shifting to stuff them in her pocket. 

“Answer your question?”

Anne nodded mutely, fingering the lace in her pocket as desire coiled almost uncomfortably between her legs.

“Satisfied?”

“Not even close.”

Anne took her hand and dragged Ann through the restaurant; Ann giggled behind her, and Anne couldn’t wait any longer. She led Ann through the hallway connecting the restaurant to the hotel proper, then hooked a sharp left into a dark alcove. They passed rows of wooden booths, the empty stalls for long-removed payphones; pushing Ann into the last one, she crashed their lips together. Ann moaned low in her throat and wrapped her hands around Anne’s hips. Cupping Ann’s face in her hands, Anne pressed her into the wall, her thigh slotting easily between Ann’s, hampered only by her dress; when Anne had first seen this dress, she had loved it and the way it made her wife look. Now that it was keeping her from direct access to Ann’s skin? It was her mortal enemy. 

“Pony,” Ann whimpered after a beat, tearing her lips away and dropping her head back against the wall, “someone will see.”

“No one can see us,” Anne said lowly, trailing a hand down Ann’s body. It was true; the wooden partitions that had provided privacy for callers now shielded them from prying eyes in the main hallway. Chest heaving, Ann turned her head to assess their surroundings. 

“Okay,” Ann breathed, tilting her hips upward as Anne’s hand slid between her legs.

Pressing her lips to Ann’s neck, she slid her fingers through her folds; Ann was so wet. Anne couldn’t suppress her groan; Ann was wobbling already, so Anne steadied her with an arm around her waist. Unable to wait, she thrust her fingers up into Ann’s clutching depths. 

“Fuck,” Ann breathed, her arms wrapping around Anne’s back. 

“Quiet,” Anne nipped her pulse point. 

Ann bit her lip, dropping her forehead onto Anne’s shoulder; her fingers dug into Anne’s back, her hips canting upward into Anne’s sharp, quick thrusts. It was so hot, in this tiny, cramped booth, Ann’s warm body pressed into hers, Ann’s center clutching at her fingers. Her thumb slipped over Ann’s clit, putting her hips into the force of her thrusts, until she felt Ann clench around her. She trembled for a few moments, mumbling softly, then her entire body went slack. Anne held her up - well, she had to admit, the wall did some of the work. Slowly, Ann returned to herself, straightening on shaky legs. 

“Shall we go upstairs?” She purred, running her hands up Anne’s sleeves to her neck.

“Yeah,” Anne nodded with a grin, dipping her head to catch Ann’s lips one more time. 

They tidied their clothes and stumbled out of the side hall, grateful the surrounding area was empty. Taking her hand, Anne strode purposefully to the front desk. The sun had set outside, and the lobby was practically empty. The woman behind the desk smiled brightly as they approached. 

“Lister,” Anne said, as she felt a warm hand around her waist. “Hold on, you,” she hissed out of the side of her mouth as their keys were being made. 

“You have to get the bags,” Ann leaned closer and spoke softly.

“It can wait.” Anne took the keys and led them toward the elevator. 

“It can’t,” Ann pouted; “we need a few of the things that are in there.”

“Like what?”

“I think you know.” Ann hooked her finger through Ann’s belt loop as the elevator arrived. “I’ll see you in a minute.”

“No,” Anne pushed her backward into the empty lift. “I’ve been thinking about this all day.”

She pressed Ann roughly into the corner of the elevator, praying that no one would interrupt them on the way to the fifth floor. Wrapping her hands around Ann’s slim waist, she crashed their lips together; the kiss was urgent, demanding, forceful. Something about the possibility of those doors dinging open at any moment, the gentle movement as they ascended, the intimacy of the tiny, private space that teetered on the edge of being public - elevators were one of Anne’s favorite places. Ann’s hands tangled in her hair, holding her impossibly closer. She relished the way Ann’s soft body melded against her own, the scratch of her nails against Anne’s scalp, the slick slide of their tongues meeting. 

And then the door dinged. 

They shot apart, Anne leaning back and stretching her arms wide across the bar at the side of the lift in an attempt to appear casual. The doors slid open to reveal a teenager staring at her phone in the third floor hallway. She stepped in without even a cursory glance, and Ann curled into Anne’s chest, muffling her laughter in her suit jacket. Anne grinned and rubbed her hand along Ann’s back until they reached the fifth floor. With a final, chaste kiss, Ann pulled away, having sneaked the keycards out of Anne’s inner blazer pocket. Anne winked as the doors closed.

“Wait, fuck, that was my floor,” the teenager turned to Anne.

Anne shrugged with a chuckle; she shoved her hand in her pocket, fiddling with the lace, which sent a jolt of arousal through her body. Good Lord, it was good to get out of the house. 

Retrieving their bags was a hassle, and Anne decided not to tell her wife just how forceful she’d been with the valet, nor how short she was with the bellhop attempting to bring their bags up for her. As if she didn’t have perfectly good arms. Blatantly searching for a tip, she thought as she stepped into the lift again. Ann would’ve let that young man carry two measly bags upstairs and tipped him handsomely; she was much kinder, wasn’t she? Anne appreciated this about her, but she doubted she’d ever soften so much.

In any event, she was doubly grateful she had refused the bellhop, because, when she opened the door to their room, Ann Walker was posed seductively on the bed, completely naked. 

“Holy shit,” Anne breathed, dropping the bags and toeing out of her shoes without thinking. Her entire brain was consumed by the need to make love to this gorgeous creature. 

Crossing the room in long strides, Anne pounced on her little woman. Their lips met feverishly, and Anne pressed her into the crisp, cool sheets. Ann pushed her jacket from her shoulders, but that was as far as Anne would let her go. Scrambling backward, she dropped to her knees on the floor, pulling Ann gently by the ankle to the edge of the bed. Anne couldn’t wait, not for a moment; her need to taste, consume, and devour was overwhelming. 

“Pony,” came the sigh as Anne’s tongue dragged through Ann’s slick folds. 

Settling her hands on Ann’s hips, Anne started her slow, purposeful worship. She was methodical. Pulling Ann’s nectar from her core with gentle strokes. Kneading her soft skin with her fingers. Circling the hard bud of desire with her tongue. Relishing the building moans echoing through the room. Slipping one finger inside, then another. Working her hand and mouth tenderly over Ann’s center, slowly increasing pressure, speed, force. Anne Lister was nothing if not systematic. 

“Yes,” Ann cried, her hands clutching at Anne’s head, desperate to hold her closer. “Yes, Pony, yes.”

Anne felt the familiar signals of Ann’s orgasm, grinning into her center as she eased Ann through her release. With a huffed sigh, Ann let go of Anne’s head and dropped her knees to the sheets. Anne stood, tugging her shirt from the confines of her trousers. She had just pulled off her tie and undone the first few buttons of her shirt when Ann rose on the edge of the bed and covered her hands. 

“Good God, Pony,” Ann said with a smile, “how I have missed you.”

Anne opened her mouth to respond - another apology, self-flagellation, guilt - but Ann was already kissing her lips, her cheeks, the sharp edge of her jaw. Her small hands worked steadily until she was pushing the shirt from Anne’s shoulders, running her warm hands across Anne’s abdomen. Her desire was bordering on desperation as she flicked open her trousers, sending them and her boxer-briefs resolutely to the floor. 

“I need you,” Anne breathed, twisting out of her bra.

“Come here.” Ann scooted backward on the bed, pulling Anne toward her by the hips. 

Anne knelt in front of her, their knees brushing and interlacing. Pressing a soft kiss to Anne’s neck, Ann drifted one hand around Anne’s broad shoulders, the other slipping deftly between her legs. She worked Anne with careful, practiced strokes, and soon Anne’s hips were bucking in time with Ann’s rhythmic movements. 

“That's right,” she whispered; her breath was hot against Anne’s ear. “You feel so good, Pony. You’re close already, aren’t you?” Anne nodded as fractured moans spilled from her lips. “Making love to me got you pretty worked up, didn’t it?” Anne nodded again. “Making out in the lift,” Ann chuckled, “and fucking me in that hallway. Fuck, Pony, you were so strong.” 

Ann had always been adept at dirty talk, but tonight her words set Anne on fire. Ann’s fingers dug into her skin and slipped over her aching clit, as her breasts pressed into Anne’s and her arm wrapped around her back; their slick skin met over and over as they writhed together. Anne felt that warm wave rising with every filthy word and skilled stroke and teasing bite. 

“I love you so much, darling.” Ann’s voice was as smooth as silk. “Do you know what I want to do tonight?” Anne shook her head, barely able to think about anything other than the pleasure suffusing her body. “I want you to fuck me.” Anne cried out at the perfect swipe to her clit. “All night.” Anne nodded, her hips now bucking wildly. “And, Pony,” Ann slowed for just a moment, “I want you to fuck me somewhere new.” Anne moved her hips against Ann’s hand; she’d been so close - why had Ann stopped? “I want you to take that big,” Ann stroked her clit, “lovely,” again, “cock of yours.” Anne nodded, shivering as Ann’s free hand drifted down her spine and over the round curve of her behind. “And fuck me,” Ann’s fingertip barely grazed over Anne’s tight hole before retreating up to the small of her back; her other hand resumed its frantic strumming of her clit. “Do you understand?”

“Yes!” Anne cried, her eyes clenching shut as her body seized with tremor after tremor. “Yes, Adney, yes, yes, ye-” Anne choked out a moan as she slumped forward onto her wife’s pale body. 

For a few long minutes, they huddled together like that, with Ann’s soft hands running up and down Anne’s sweaty back. Finally, Anne pulled away and flopped back into the pillows. Grinning, Ann dropped down onto her, their chests pressing together and Ann’s small, perfect face just inches from Anne’s.

“Holy fucking shit,” Anne said emphatically. “Je- I mean... fuck, Ann Walker. My God.”

“Was it good for you, baby?” Ann teased. 

“Oh my God,” Anne laughed. “How are you so - genuinely, I mean this very seriously - how are you so hot?”

“What?” Ann blushed and looked down, tracing her finger over Anne’s clavicle.

“I’m serious, my love.” Anne stroked along her spine. “You present me with your wet panties in the middle of a restaurant.” A wide smile spread across Anne's face. “Not only can you make me come harder than anyone I’ve ever known, but the mouth on you? I - it’s insane. It’s absolutely nutty, the way you talk when we’re together.”

“I’m saying what I feel,” Ann said softly, and it occurred to Anne that she might be embarrassed. With Ann, the heat of the moment was always a bit separated from reality. She would blush wildly at Anne’s bawdy jokes at the dinner table, but she said the filthiest things in bed. 

“I love it,” Anne said genuinely, hoping to reassure her. “I love you. I love you so much, Adney.” And then she started teasing, “and I love what a dirty bird you are.”

Ann smiled and shook her head, and Anne decided to let it rest. They caught their breath - pressed together, trading soft whispers of devotion, hands stroking aimlessly along whatever skin they could reach - for nearly ten minutes before Ann’s words finally clicked in her head. 

“Did you mean it? What you said?” Anne asked quietly.

“Yes.” Ann bit her lip as she met Anne’s gaze.

“Oh, Miss Walker,” Anne laughed, rolling them over to lay Ann flat on her back. “You never fail to amaze me.”

Anne brought their lips together for just a moment - a heated moment, but a short one moment - before she went to root through their bags. Yes, she thought, as her hand fell on that black box, it certainly was nice to get out of the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to thekaty for letting me know that in the UK they say autumn term, rather than fall semester. I learn something new every day. 
> 
> Also shoutout to firstdown for this positively filthy idea about Ann's panties and those reprobates ReleaseTheSheep, VerseTop, and S. for encouraging it! Y'all are nasty, and I mean that with love. 
> 
> One of the things I love best about writing this story has been the interactions with all of you - I’m learning and I’m laughing and I’m stealing ideas. Thank you so much!
> 
> Posting a bit early tonight, because I have to be up early in the morning. Hope you enjoy - let me know what you thought!  
> Thank you, as always, for reading!!


	3. Dessert

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is just... incredibly dirty

It hadn’t taken long, had it? For them to jumpstart their sex life. Ann felt rather proud of herself as she lounged against the pillow and watched Anne adjust the harness and root through the bags for the lubricant. She’d set this whole thing up, and, so far, it was a smashing success. 

“And these?” Anne held her heels on hooked fingers. “These are criminal.”

“Why’s that? 

“Too hot.” Anne clicked her tongue as she sauntered to the end of the bed. “Risk of fire. Should be illegal.”

“That line could use some work, Pony,” Ann said, deciding to be a little bratty tonight. She certainly loved when Anne took control, but that didn’t mean she had to be passive. 

Anne bit her lip, but she didn’t take the bait. Instead, she crawled onto the foot of the bed and slipped one heel on Ann’s foot. With a raised eyebrow, she put the other one as well. Ann felt a bit silly, to tell the truth, but the feral look in Anne’s eyes convinced her to keep them on. 

“You are so sexy, Ann Walker,” she purred as she crawled up Ann’s body. 

A shiver ran up her spine - Anne using her full name always meant Ann was really and truly in for it. A proper ravishing of her body. A nice, thorough fuck. Tonight, it started with Anne’s tongue running along her calf. Then her lips pressed along her thigh, followed by her teeth nipping along the inner juncture of Ann’s leg and torso. As she made her way higher, her hand teased Ann’s entrance; Ann was aflame with the duality - the soft lips on her stomach and the strong fingers stretching her, the sharp bites over her ribs and the gentle rhythm of Anne’s hand, the warm mouth gently covering her breast and the sharp jolts of electricity shooting from her core. 

“Oh, Pony,” she moaned as Anne moved to her other breast. “Yes.”

Anne was balancing on one forearm, her knees bracketing Ann’s thighs, and now she was stretching her fingers to brush across Ann’s side. The sensation was somewhere between ticklish and arousing. 

“Adney.” Anne’s breath was hot against her throat as she split Ann with a third finger. “Fuck, baby,” she growled. Ann could only whimper in response. “I love the way you feel. I can never get enough of you, darling. You’re mine, do you know that? Let me show you. Are you ready?”

Ann whined, nodding and biting her lip; her hands grappled across Anne’s back, struggling to find purchase on her slick skin. Anne pulled away, and Ann sighed at the loss. Straightening her back, Anne grinned and hooked her hands under Ann’s knees, holding them aloft near her waist. 

“Oh my God,” Ann breathed as she watched Anne’s hips press forward, guiding her cock to her entrance. “Holy - oh my - Pony, you -” She couldn’t believe how good Anne was at this, how full she felt, how incredibly close she was. 

“That’s right, my love,” Anne eased back slowly. “God, you look so fucking good. “She pressed forward. “My cock filling you up.” She started a gentle rhythm. “You feel so good.”

Ann moaned, teetering on the edge of her release. Anne’s hands kneaded the skin of her calves as she started moving her hips faster. Fisting her hands in the sheets, Ann pushed back, matching her thrusts. And then Anne pulled out with a grin; Ann’s heart jumped - she knew what was coming next. She squeezed Ann’s hips playfully, then flipped her onto her stomach. 

“Pony,” Ann giggled, pressing her hips upward. 

“You’ve asked me for something,” Anne said as she thrust in sharply, her low tone underscored by Ann’s high-pitched cry. “And I mean to make it happen.” 

Setting an even rhythm, Anne wrapped one hand around Ann’s hip, the other gripping her ass. Ann pushed back, willing Anne to keep going. She was so close, but she didn’t want to come, not yet, not without Anne filling her completely. There was a quiet snap, then a pause, before Anne’s slick thumb probed her tight hole. Ann was being loud now, she knew, but she couldn’t help it. The fractured moans and high-pitched cries bounced off the walls of the hotel room; her knuckles turned white, matching the sheets below her. The tip of Anne’s thumb breached her puckered hole, and then her hips sped up. 

“Fuck, Adney.” Anne was panting as she pounded into her. “How does it feel, baby? Being filled up like this?” Anne’s hand snaked around to brush over Ann’s aching clit. “You are mine, Ann Walker. You belong to me.”

And she did. Of course. Heart and soul, she had always belonged to Anne Lister. Ever since the first time they touched, Ann had given her body over as well. But this? This was something else entirely. Anne lit every nerve in her body on fire; she took every piece of Ann as her own; she bathed her in the greatest pleasure Ann had ever felt. Powerful hips smacked against her ass cheeks Ann was filled in every hole she had to offer; Anne was grunting with effort now, sending Ann hurtling for the precipice. Her hands, her hips, her cock - she was everywhere, delivering every single thing.

Letting out an unbridled scream, Ann surrendered herself. She collapsed forward, her face pressing into the sheets, her thighs shaking with effort; it was so intense that Ann almost drifted away, but she held onto this moment. She wasn’t done with this night, not yet. Anne steadied her with a hand around her hip, then eased her thumb out, then the strap. With a satisfied sigh, Ann let herself fall into the sheets, her arms and legs spread wide against the cool cotton. She felt the heels eased from her feet, and then, with a soft thump, Anne’s face appeared next to her, that fiendish grin spreading across her cheeks. Ann tilted her chin weakly, still panting. Their lips pressed together softly, and Anne turned onto her side, tracing her hand along Ann’s spine. 

“You’re so good at that, Pony,” they said in unison. Then they both laughed. Ann shook her head with a roll of her eyes. 

“You always say that,” Anne winked. “Though I do appreciate the praise, you don’t have to state the obvious.” 

“You are so full of yourself,” Ann grinned, reaching out to pinch Anne’s side. “I don’t know why I put up with you.”

“Two reasons,” Anne swung a leg over her back. “The first,” she whispered hotly in Ann’s ear, “is you love me deeply and spiritually and we’re made for each other. And the second,” Anne scooted down, her thighs just below Ann’s behind, “is how good I am,” she rolled her hips, “at that.”

“You’re right,” Ann moaned, relaxing into the warmth of Anne’s body over her as her hands gently rubbed her back. “Oh, I do love you, Anne. I love you so much.”

“I know,” Anne nipped at her shoulder. “Because I love you too.” 

Ann lost herself to the soft pressure of the massage, Anne’s warm lips moving across her neck and shoulders, her strong hands expertly relaxing Ann’s muscles. This was exactly what Ann had been longing for - one of these nights where they connected over and over again, on every level. This sex that was hot and fierce and tender and rushed and teasing, buffered by lazy periods of recovery as their lungs and hands and legs caught up to their desires. It felt like ages since they’d spent so long making love, finding that unique space that existed only for them. 

“I do love you, Adney,” Anne broke the silence after a while, her hands still massaging Ann’s lower back and the top of her behind, “and you know I’d do anything for you, don’t you?” Ann hummed her agreement; having the devotion of Anne Lister was a powerful, intoxicating, heartwarming feeling. It felt like a suit of armor. It felt like a weapon. “So if you’re ready, love, I’d like to take you up on your request.”

“God, yes,” Ann sighed. She’s been dreaming of this particular sensation for weeks now. 

Anne approached this challenge the same way she seemed to approach everything else: gently, precisely, and enthusiastically. Her low voice filled Ann’s ears with quiet encouragement as her slick finger dipped between her cheeks. The intrusion wasn’t unwelcome, but it certainly was… odd. Ann wanted so desperately to enjoy this, but she found her body resisting. She huffed in frustration, and Anne stilled. 

“It’s okay, darling,” Anne said quietly. “Pass me a pillow, and relax.” Ann did the former, but she had less success with the latter. She was worried Anne would give up, steer them to something else, and then Ann wouldn’t get to satisfy this gnawing curiosity. This was hardly something they could try at home, and when were they likely to have a night away again? Anne lifted her hips gently, sliding the pillow underneath them; her fingertips ghosted over Ann’s clit. “It might feel strange at first, hmm? But then,” without stopping her featherlight sweeps across Ann’s clit, Anne teased the entrance of her tight hole again, “then it’ll feel so good, my love. I promise you. Focus on how good it feels.” Ann closed her eyes to concentrate. “Trust me, Adney,” Anne worked her finger easily in and out; “there you go, darling girl.” Ann shivered as warm liquid drizzled between her cheeks. “You’re doing so well. Fuck,” Anne squeezed a second finger inside, “you feel so good.”

And she did, actually, she did feel incredibly good. The sensation on her clit mixed with the steady movements of Anne’s hand into an intoxicating cocktail. And yet, Anne still felt far away; Ann could picture her hovering, slightly hunched, but she wanted to feel her. 

“Come here,” Ann whispered, surprised by how heavy her breathing was already. 

“Yeah?” Anne’s grin shone through her voice. “I’ll come here.”

Anne shifted - the hand on Ann’s clit fell away as her strong body fell into the sheets next to her, the fingers in her tight hole slowed, but never stopped. How was Anne so smooth? And then Anne’s arm was wrapping around her and pulling her close; Anne’s hand, still wet with arousal, was toying with her nipples. 

“Pony,” Ann whimpered. The heat from Anne’s body blazed across her back. The angle was refreshing, different, intoxicating. Ann bit her lip, focusing on the gentle rhythm Anne set on her breasts, between her cheeks. For a few minutes, neither of them spoke; the only sounds were those of labored breathing, skin meeting, rustling of the sheets. “Oh, God,” she whined as Anne’s ring finger joined the rest. 

“You’re doing so well, Adney,” Anne’s lips pressed to the side of her neck; her hands were still working tenderly, tirelessly. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. The kindest and the most thoughtful and the sweetest. But, by God, if you’re not the most drop-dead gorgeous woman on this planet. And the fact that I’m the one who - oh, Ann, it makes me so hot I almost can’t breathe.”

Ann reached back, her hand finding Anne’s hip, tugging her forward. She was ready, nearly desperate, in fact, for Anne to take her. But then Anne was pulling out, pulling away, pulling back. Her hand tugged at Ann’s shoulder, turning her so they faced each other. Anne brought their lips together, slow and deep and wet. Then Anne rolled on her back, the strap wobbling in the air; she licked her lips.

“Do you - can I -?” Ann started.

“I think,” Anne said gently, “perhaps we would do well if you would set the pace.”

Ann nodded, brain split between the scary/exhilarating prospect of guiding their lovemaking and, of course, awe at Anne’s eloquence about such a lewd act. She swung her leg over Anne’s thighs, but Anne was still so far away, nestled there in the pillows as she was. She tilted her chin, and Anne scrambled to sit up, pressing their lips together in a moment of reassurance. The strap was cool between their overheated bodies, and Ann found herself staring at it, arousal mixing with fear. Anne reached for the lubricant and Ann’s hand, squirted a healthy dose, then brought Ann’s hand to the pink silicone. They coated the strap together, Anne’s strong, veiny hand wrapped around Ann’s smaller, pale one. The strap felt more narrow in her fist, and she relaxed again. Anne pressed their lips together, squeezing her hand. 

And then she did it. Ann found herself rising up, guiding Anne’s cock to her waiting hole. Anne’s hands wrapped around her hips, supporting her as the first inch slid inside; Ann leaned forward, balancing her hands on Anne’s shoulders as she eased herself down. It was tight and exhilarating and strange and delightful and peculiar and - 

"Fuck, Pony, it’s so good.”

“Yes, baby, it is,” Anne purred as Ann sat down fully. “You’re doing so well.”

Ann raised herself up just a hair, then down again. She continued like this, growing accustomed to the tight pressure; Anne’s hand swiped over her clit, and she saw stars. Electricity shot between her clit and her ass, building into a supernova between her legs. She started moving more quickly, her thighs burning as she took more and more. Sweat dripped down her back as she chased her release, but there was nothing that would keep her from this exquisite rush. 

Except, of course, a leg cramp. 

“Oh, fuck, Anne, wait.”

“What?” Anne froze.

“My leg,” Ann gasped, clenching at the tightness in her thigh. “Shit, I was so -” she felt near tears. “Fuck.”

“It’s okay,” Anne kissed her cheek. “Do you want to stop?”

“No, no,” Ann fell onto her back, perpendicular to Anne’s hips. “I want to do this, I - this stupid body. I can never do what I want to do.”

“Hold on now,” Anne crawled over her; she’d taken the strap out of the harness. “We can still do this. Just hold on.” 

Anne palpated her thigh, her eyes narrow and focused. Ann wanted to laugh at her wife’s serious, “I-think-I’m-a-doctor” attitude as she gently massaged Ann’s leg. But then the tension in her muscles released, and the pain disappeared. Noticing her sigh of relief, Anne pressed her lips to Ann’s thigh, nipped at her hip bone, then caught her lips. 

“Okay?”

“Okay,” Ann managed to smile.

Anne kissed her again, then moved down her neck, across her clavicle, over her breasts and ribs and stomach. She didn’t linger as she usually did; instead, she scooted Ann into the pillow then pushed Ann’s knees to her chest, flicking her tongue over Ann’s puckered hole. That familiar warmth spread across her base, and Ann gripped her own thighs, watching Anne’s dark head work steadily. Anne’s tongue traveled up her folds to work gently over her clit, as her fingers thrust into her tight hole again. It was ecstasy, and her release coiled within her anew. She’d been so close before. 

“Pony,” she whined, and that dark head popped up. 

“Ready?” Anne grinned.

At Ann’s nod, Anne reached for the strap, affixing it between her legs again and lathering it with lubricant. She pressed forward, sliding in slowly; Anne covered her hands and held her legs, and Ann flopped back in relief. This was so much better, she decided, as Anne started thrusting shallowly. That warm, tight feeling radiated out through her lower body, then up into her chest. Anne leaned forward and hooked Ann’s legs over her shoulder; balancing on one arm and thrusting deeper now, Anne spread her hand over Ann’s belly, using her thumb to flick over Ann’s clit. Ann cried out at the slick press of their skin, the possessiveness in Anne’s hands, the desperate heat building in her gut. 

Her body was tensing now, part from the overwhelming pleasure and part from the contortion of her limbs. Anne’s hips were pistoning more forcefully now, her thumb moving with increased urgency; there was no use in Ann controlling her wild, needy screams. It was perfect, this moment, just as Ann had imagined; Anne wasn’t so far away this time, close enough that their chests pressed together and Ann could reach out and tangle her fingers in her hair. Anne’s primal grunts mixed with her own high-pitched cries, and the twin sounds of their effort sent Ann over the edge. 

She clenched and trembled and stretched taut, choked moans falling from her lips as she let her release wash over her; a release so deep and warm it nearly drowned her. She bobbed back to the surface to the sound of the harness’s buckles and Anne’s desperate pants. With a shaking hand, Ann reached between them, slipping her hand into the now-loose harness. It only took a few moments, and Anne was shaking over her, mumbling and cursing. 

For a long beat, the world stopped turning as they drifted back into their bodies. Anne’s lips found her jugular, and the rotation continued. 

Ann’s eyes were still closed when she felt the strap leave her, then she felt the bed depress as Anne fell next to her. Blinking in the light, Ann turned onto her side and laid her hand gently over Anne’s belly. The world paused, one more time, as their eyes met in gratitude, fatigue, ecstasy, laughter, and love. Ann tilted her chin, and their lips met, allowing the world to resume its spin once more. 

Anne reached for the room phone and dialed the front desk. Furrowing her brow in confusion, Ann nestled into her chest. Her brain was still recovering, and she couldn’t understand what Anne said until she turned back to face her. 

“They’re bringing us fresh sheets in half an hour,” Anne said, tracing her hand along Ann’s slick back. “Think you’ll be mobile by then?” 

Ann smacked Anne’s firm stomach with a giggle. Anne pressed her face to the crown of her head, inhaling deeply; Ann could feel the smile on her lips.

“I think we cured our rut,” Ann teased softly.

“Do you?” Anne’s tone was jovial, but anxiety underscored her words.

“Yes, Pony,” Ann pressed her lips to Anne’s clavicle. “Have you ever done that before?”

“Actually, uh, no.” 

“Really?”

“I’ve tried,” Anne seemed shy at this confession, “but no one - I could never make it work. Too impatient or bullish or something. Never done it properly.”

Ann hummed and nodded. 

“Which is to say, darling Adney, that I’ve never been so - I’ve never had a partner who - uh, who would explore something like this with me and then take the time to actually do it. D’you see what I mean? I’m not going to spend all night on it,but - but I want you to know that. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, because it’s true. All my life, I’ve rushed, and you’re the first person to actually show me the importance of patience and taking the time to do something right. I don’t want to be sappy about what is quite possibly the dirtiest thing we’ve ever done,” Anne chuckled, “but, by God, just when I think I couldn’t love you any more than I already do - there you go again - Ann Walker, unhinging me.

Ann grinned into Anne’s chest, letting them have their tearful moment. She could hear the crack in Anne’s voice, but she knew better than to call attention to it. Not right now, when they were naked and sated and vulnerable. Later, maybe, but not now. Ann kissed her chest once more to say “I hear you. Thank you. I love you.” Anne had said it again, “Ann Walker,” rather than “Ann” or “Adney” or “darling.” So there were two times, actually, that Anne used her full name - when Anne was going to ravish her, and then, when Anne was feeling exposed. Sometimes Anne seemed in awe of the way it felt to be in love, the way their love affected her. Ann had loved her for so long that the feeling was familiar, but she often forgot that Anne was still learning. Still learning what it meant to love that deeply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good Lord.
> 
> Thank you for reading. This one is a little out of my comfort zone, so I'm nervous. As always, hope y'all like it. I did try. A little surreal to be sitting on my couch, eating chips, like "what's another euphemism for booty." 
> 
> Anyway, let me know you thought! Tomorrow's chapter likely going up a little later in the evening, just as a heads up.


	4. Breakfast

By the time Ann’s pretty little head stirred in the pillows, Anne had already ticked several items from her to-do list. 

First, a shower. The warm suds washed away the scent of the night before, and Anne couldn’t help feeling a little wistful. Good Lord, they’d had quite an evening, hadn’t they? Her arms and legs were still a little sore from the exertion, which thrilled her - proof of a job well done. Not to mention the deep, heavy sleep still encompassing her wife. Thoroughly worn out, Anne thought with a smug grin.

Next, she found the casual clothes Ann had packed for her. Dark jeans and a grey t-shirt, her black leather jacket tucked into the bottom of the bag in case the wind picked up. Though bright colors had successfully infiltrated her work wardrobe, Anne still reverted to black in her downtime. She just hadn’t taken the time to shop very much; perhaps she and Ann could…

Third, trotting downstairs to the front desk to extend their stay for another night. No need to rush back to Shibden, right? They could have a relaxed day out in Halifax, perhaps spend the evening drinking a little too much, then another night in that plush bed. She placed a room service order while she was down there - pancakes, orange juice, coffee, bacon, eggs. Anne herself was famished, and she was certain Ann would be as well. She sent Marian a text to let her know the plan; shaking her head, she pocketed her phone. Six months ago she never would have bothered to contact her sister, but now she knew Ann would be cross with her if she didn’t. 

By the time she returned to their room, it was bathed in soft light from the wide windows, illuminating Ann’s golden hair against the stark white linens. Anne loved her pink hair, her dark hair that had turned auburn in the summer sun, the reverse ombré when she’d grown it out to get back to her natural color, but the blonde was Anne’s favorite. She’d never tell Ann, wouldn’t want to make her second guess herself or, heaven forbid, stop experimenting with dye; the first moment, seeing Ann’s transformed hair - it was like a lightning strike. There was something intensely and incredibly arousing about it, like her wife was a new person, a sexy stranger that she actually knew very well. The blonde, however, fit Ann best. It complimented her pale skin perfectly and, as now, it surrounded her in that warm yellow. She was like a Renaissance painting, one of those religious icons with the gold-leaf halo surrounded by faint streaks radiating outward. 

“Good morning.” Ann’s voice was still rough with sleep, her eyes squinting in the bright light, a sleepy smile spreading across her face.

“Hello there,” Anne purred, leaning down to kiss Ann softly. “Better get dressed, Miss Walker. I’ve ordered breakfast.”

Ann stretched lazily. She was so tiny and pale, swallowed up by their rumpled sheets. Ann had grumbled about putting on fresh ones last night - sated and half-asleep, as she usually was after they made love - but she’d been grateful once they snuggled into the crisp, cool linens. Anne could see now that she had small bruises along her hips and faint red marks over her breasts; she felt a twinge of guilt. She should be more careful with this delicate creature.

“Now, Pony,” Ann caught her gaze, “don’t do that.”

“What?”

“That thing where you look at me like I’m going to break.”

“I’m not-”

“Yes, Pony, you are,” Ann slipped out of bed and kissed her cheek. “I already saw them, and I don’t care. In fact,” Ann pressed her naked body to Anne’s, one hand sneaking under her shirt, “I found it rather arousing.”

“Did you?” Anne wrapped an arm around her; she loved nothing more than walking her fingers up and down Ann’s spine. 

“Yes,” Ann pouted, her nose rubbing against Anne’s throat, “but you weren’t even here.” 

“I had an idea, actually, that we might stay another night.”

“Really?” Ann’s upturned face shone with excitement.

“If you don’t mind. We could spend the day in town, and then the night…”

“Oh yes,” Ann grinned, walking Anne backward toward the bathroom. 

As her back hit the cool tile, Anne dropped her hands to Ann’s waist and brought their lips together slowly. It was the opposite of last night, this kiss - all lazy tongues and soft lips. Ann’s warm hand was still tracing over her stomach, but slowly, with no real intention. Their bodies pressed together without urgency, their hands caressing tenderly as their mouths moved together. For several long moments, they stayed just like that, Anne allowing herself to live in this exact moment, rather than rushing into the future. 

Without a word, Ann’s hand navigated past her trousers and into her boxers, coaxing her clit gently. Anne broke away with a groan, stretching her neck back against the wall; the sight of her wife’s naked body was arousing enough, but the feeling of it pressed against her as those dainty fingers caressed her? Intoxicating.

“Adney,” she moaned hoarsely, holding Ann firmly to her with one hand, the other gripping her shoulder. Ann peppered her neck and jaw with light kisses; Anne could feel her having to stretch her legs a bit to reach, and the angle was pressing Ann’s breasts into her chest. She moaned again, “yes, ri- right there, darling.”

She could feel Ann’s grin against her neck, and she closed her eyes, giving herself over to the peaceful warmth and gentle touches. Without even realizing, Anne found herself at the precipice surprisingly fast. Ann’s lips trailed over her throat as one hand rubbed her back and the other stroked between her legs. With a moan of relief, Anne tumbled over the edge, her body sagging as Ann’s sure fingers eased every drop of pleasure from her. 

And then there was a knock at the door. 

“The -” Anne panted, still shaking through her orgasm. 

“I’ll get it,” Ann pulled away with a smirk. 

Anne watched through lidded eyes as Ann snagged the fluffy robe from the back of the door and padded to the door. With a huff of effort, Anne straightened, rebuttoning her jeans and watching Ann usher the room service porter into the room. 

“Right here?” He asked; Ann nodded. 

The young man was closer to Ann’s age than her own, with curly black hair and thick arms under his crisp white shirt. Anne didn’t like the way he was looking at her wife; he clearly hadn’t noticed Anne lingering in the bathroom doorway. 

“Thank you,” Ann said, totally oblivious to the young man’s lecherous gaze as she rooted through her purse.

Anne shook her head as she watched her wife hold out far too large of a tip for this guy’s measly service. Her blood started to boil as she watched his eyes move up Ann’s bare legs, over the loosely-tied robe, lingering on her breasts, and then, finally, to her face. 

“Here alone?” He asked, his hand closing around the bills. 

“No, actually,” Anne sauntered up behind Ann, wrapping an arm around her waist. “She’s not.”

“Oh, uh,” the young man stuttered, “right. I’ll uh-”

“Right.” Anne let go of Ann’s waist to advance on this lech. “Better be going, hmmm?”

Mouth moving silently, he stumbled backward. Anne found she was at least an inch taller than him, and from this distance she could now make out the pathetic, wispy hairs along his chin and upper lip. His back ran into the door, then he fumbled with the doorknob and was gone. 

“Pony,” Ann laughed behind her. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Do what?” Anne plopped into one of the dining chairs in front of the silver-covered trays.

“Menace that poor guy,” Ann dropped into her lap, her knees bracketing Anne’s thighs. “He was just asking a question.”

“He was not,” Anne said firmly, wrapping her hands around Ann’s hips and squeezing. “He was checking you out.”

“What’s there to check out?” Ann teased in a low voice. She arched her back, pressing her breasts into Anne’s face. Anne inhaled for a moment, reveling in the scent and warmth of her wife in her lap. 

“I didn’t like the way he was looking at you,” Anne nosed her way into Ann’s chest, pressing her lips to her cleavage. “You belong to me, Miss Walker.”

“You say that,” Ann sound bemused, her hands scratching lightly over Anne’s scalp, “but you still call me ‘Miss Walker.’”

“Would you prefer, Mrs. Lister?” Anne nipped at the top of Ann’s breast.

“I think I would,” Ann said breathlessly, “just between us, but - oh, Pony, I want to be your wife.” Anne immersed herself in the pale skin before her, the reassuring pressure of Ann’s fingers in her hair, the warm weight in her lap; perhaps they would get married today, a courthouse wedding. Forget all their plans, she needed to make Ann Walker her wife. But then Ann tugged at her hair until she looked up. “I want to be your wife, Pony, but I also want to eat breakfast.”

Anne laughed, exhaling her rushed urges. She was getting ahead of herself, as usual. Hadn't she just been telling Ann how grateful she was to be learning patience? No, rushing would never do, not for Ann. She deserved more. She jiggled her knees, and Ann tipped out of her lap. She pulled her robe tighter and re-tied it, then sat in the chair opposite Anne. Uncovering the plates, they were greeted by pancakes, bacon, eggs. Ann poured them each a cup of coffee, drowning her own in cream and sweetener. They shared the plates, grazing across the table and brainstorming how they could spend the day. 

“I might need some new jeans,” Anne offered, leaning back so that her wife could have the last slice of bacon. She enjoyed watching Ann eat, because she was prone to skipping meals, forgetting to eat, dropping her blood sugar. “I haven’t had proper blue jeans in decades.”

“Really?” Ann’s face lit up. “Can I pick out a few things for you?”

“Of course,” Anne sipped her coffee. “You know I have no taste.”

“It’s so funny that you think that, Pony, because I think you dress very well.”

“Sure, you choose all my clothes.”

“No,” Ann drawled, “even before. You’ve always had such a specific style, and it really works for you. One time, I think I was 15, you came over, and you were wearing this black suit, and your shirt was so black, and then your tie was this dark grey pattern -” Ann held her hands up to demonstrate, then laughed. “I remember your shoes were so shiny, and then your socks were, like, green. It seemed so - I don’t know - cheeky. I don’t think I said a word the entire time you were there,” Ann laughed again, “I was, like, having a heart attack.”

Anne smiled and shook her head, bittersweet memories tugging at her heart. She remembered that day, the brief week she’d allowed color to sneak back in; Mariana was toying with leaving Charles more and more seriously. The socks were her happy little secret; she’d felt a thrill even putting them on. It only lasted seven days, of course, and then Mariana rolled it all back. She couldn’t leave Charles; he hadn’t finalized his will. That stung - her lack of trust in Anne, her questioning Anne’s ability to provide for her. Anne wasn’t tenured at the time, had only just inherited Shibden. The twist of the knife, however, was Mariana’s second reason for staying: she thought she was pregnant. 

“What are you thinking about?” Ann said quietly.

“Come here,” Anne crossed to the wide leather chair on the other side of the room and held one arm out.

“Tell me what you’re thinking about.”

“Come here, and I’ll tell you what I’m thinking about.”

Ann complied, sitting across Anne’s lap with her back against one arm of the chair, her legs dangling over the other. Anne wrapped one hand around her knee, the other tracing up and down her spine. The robe was plush, impossibly soft. She inhaled.

“I’m thinking about what a strange time in my life that was. My uncle had just died. Mariana had told me she was leaving Charles. It seemed like I was going to get everything I’d ever wanted.” Ann’s hand threaded through the hair at the back of her neck. “It was sort of greedy, you know? My ultimate happiness was based entirely on the destruction of two men. I really did care about my uncle, and no one could have done more for me. But my first thought when he died was -” Anne swallowed, embarrassed. Ann’s other hand traced over the hollow of her throat; she understood. “And Charles, of course, God only knows how long I’ve prayed for - well, anyway.” Anne broke off again, ashamed of herself.

“It’s okay, Anne.” The softness of Ann’s voice, the comforting warmth of her body, the use of her proper name - Anne had to bite her lip to keep it from trembling. “So you started wearing bright socks? Because you were coming out of mourning?”

“Yes,” Anne managed. “I was so pleased. And then - then it fell apart.”

“She didn’t leave him.”

“No. She - God, she told me she might be pregnant.”

“Oh, darling.”

“How fucked is that?” Anne chuckled bitterly. “I always thought they didn’t - I mean, I just assumed. Idiot.”

“Not an idiot,” Ann said gently. “You’re the smartest and strongest and best person I know.”

“Those bloody socks. It only lasted a week, then I threw them away.”

“I’m sorry.” Ann said gently. “I hate that you -”

“It’s okay,” Anne pressed their cheeks together. “Isn’t it strange? That you have such a positive memory of that day, and for me, it’s - it’s so different.”

Ann said nothing, and for a long moment they just breathed together. Anne was getting better at working through these difficult memories, but every now and then, like today, one would knock her flat. The life she’d almost had - the life she’d wanted so desperately - the life she would never experience. She felt a twinge of sadness, not regret, but sadness for the woman she’d been. The woman who had tried so hard and wanted so much. She’d achieved a lot of it, but this blow had devastated her. For a time, the hurt of not having Mariana obscured all her other successes. And yet, with Ann nuzzling gently into her neck, she saw that the pain had been necessary.

“If I meet Mariana Lawton,” Ann said softly, “I’ll be happy to deck her. If you like.”

Anne laughed, relief flooding her as her tension dissipated; Ann laughed too, her body shaking in Anne's arms. 

“And then I’ll thank her,” Ann continued, “for being such a big dummy.” She pressed her lips to the underside of Anne’s jaw. “And wasting you like that. It does work out rather nicely for me.” 

Anne grinned, closing her eyes to enjoy the gentle kisses Ann was trailing across her neck. It had been worth it, she knew. All of it. Of course. The hurt still stung, but at least now there was a reason for it. It hadn’t been for nothing. 

“I need a shower,” Ann breathed against her skin. “Fancying joining me?”

“I’ve already had mine."

“Yes, but I wasn’t there. How do I know you did it properly? Cleaned behind your ears and all that?”

Anne laughed again, this time scooping Ann up and carrying her to the bathroom. Standing her gingerly on the tile, Anne flicked open that maddening robe and descending on Ann’s breasts. Her gasp of surprise turned into a moan as Anne circled one nipple with her fingers and took the other between her lips. Anne pushed all thoughts of the past out of her mind, focusing solely on the positively delectable woman before her. Dropping to her knees, she pressed soft kisses to Ann’s belly, then hiked one leg over her shoulder; hands tangled in her hair as Ann found her balance. Of course, Anne was more than happy to wrap her own hands around those narrow hips and hold her wife in place. With gentle strokes and soft hums, Anne teased her folds, her entrance, her clit. She worked her love tenderly, drawing more and more desperate pleas from her lips, until she bent forward with a shudder. Anne eased every drop of her release from the goddess above her, even as she trembled and swayed over her; Ann was so light, it took almost nothing to ensure she stayed upright. With a final kiss to each hip bone, Anne pulled away.

“Pony,” Ann panted, “Good Lord.”

“I love you, my darling,” Anne said as she heaved herself to her feet. That tile really was rather hard on the knees. “Hop in that shower, before I drag you back to bed for the rest of the day.”

“That wouldn’t be so bad,” Ann said with a teasing kiss “but I think I’d rather show you off.”

“Show me off?” Anne laughed.

“Sure,” Ann swatted her behind playfully, “I’d like for all of Halifax to see just who it was that tamed the great Anne Lister.”

Anne laughed again and shook her head, watching Ann turn on the water. She thanked God, once again, for the providence to lead her to this exact moment. Every stumble and wrong turn and lonesome night was worth it, because it led her to this tiny, maddening, beautiful, generous, and kind woman now humming in the shower, with Anne's purple fingerprints on her hips and Anne's entire being wrapped around her little finger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Anne in the show dresses so well (in my opinion), and I think this Anne does too, but they're both insecure about it. We don't see it too much in Gentleman Jack, but her anxiety over her clothes is palpable in the diaries. She almost always writes about her clothes in code, lamenting they don't fit right, they're tattered, they're the wrong style. So I think Anne struggles to dress in a way that is comfortable for her, but that also fits in with her idea of womanhood and society. In The Secret Diaries of Miss Anne Lister, there's an entry where she says she cut the feet out of her silk stockings and sewed thick, cotton socks on the ends - gayyyyyyyy. oh, I love her so much. 
> 
> The Mariana stuff is based on that actual time in Anne's life, where her uncle's death coincided with Mariana more or less leaving Charles. Anne thinks it'll look bad for them to shack up right away, so she tells her to go make up with him - anybody else read No Priest But Love? That was my understanding. She definitely references, in the diary, feeling a sort of greedy excitement when her uncle dies, which she feels incredibly guilty about. The pregnancy thing I added, because I don't think a modern Anne would've worried so much about how it looked. 19th-century Anne had to pretend they were just gal pals, but 21st-century Anne wouldn't have.
> 
> One more chapter of them on their little weekend away, and then I can't decide between going to Scotland to see Elizabeth or Anne starting the new school year - what do you think? Which would you like to see first?
> 
> Thank you, as always, for reading and commenting. Y'all are the best!


	5. Midnight Snack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Experimenting with a different tense? Trying a totally new POV? Rushing the editing? Hubris.

On a normal Saturday night in Halifax, you might see any number of people ambling along the streets, dipping into a pub, leaning against the brick facades of darkened stores. You might notice a gaggle of young women in tight skirts and hen-night sashes, or you might see a cluster of teenagers hanging around trying to convince passing strangers to buy them liquor. Some Saturdays the dark night is filled by the hoots and cheers of a weekend football team; on others, couples stroll, arm-in-arm, along the cobbled streets. On this particular Saturday, however, you wouldn’t see much of anything. The night was cool for August, and most of the town was packed inside; the patios had been filled for weeks after the lockdown, but now they were mostly bare. The wind whistled gently through the trees, and the moon peeked out from behind the clouds. It was one of those dark nights, you know? Where the only real light came from the streetlamps and the warm glow of the pubs. And yet, despite the chill and the wind and the dark, on this Saturday night, you would see a couple huddled against the exterior wall of one of those pubs.

Let’s take a closer look, shall we?

There, against the rough brick, is one Anne Lister, pressing one Ann Walker backward. Their lips meet sloppily, and their bodies are heavy with that comfortable buzz of drinking just a little too much. Ann’s hands are flashes of white in the dark hair above her, and her skirt moves steadily upward as Anne caresses her creamy thigh.

Surely you’ve noticed by now how they’re dressed. Anne Lister is formidable, as always, in those dark jeans and t-shirt - you can’t see it from this angle, but Ann Walker is sliding one hand up that very shirt. Ann Walker, of course, is her polar opposite, in a light green dress that falls just above her knee; having gotten cold the moment they stepped outside, she has Anne’s leather jacket around her shoulders. It’s a nice contrast, isn’t it? You can see the goosebumps along Anne’s bare arms. Whether that’s from the chill or the way Ann is currently sucking at her throat, well, that’s anyone’s guess.

“Adney,” she whispers, and her voice is hoarse and rough. Her fingers dig into Ann’s thigh, pressing her leg into that green dress. 

“God, Pony,” comes the rushed reply, and the sound of a belt jangling and fly unzipping echo in the quiet night. 

Anne growls and her hand disappears under Ann’s skirt. Her head falling back against the wall, Ann moans softly; the hand in Anne’s hair tightens, pulling her closer into her neck. The veins in Anne’s forearm stand out as she moves steadily. Ann’s creamy calf contrasts sharply with the black jeans as it wraps around Anne’s hip. 

“Fuck,” Anne grunts as her movements pick up speed. Her head drops back down to the crook of Ann’s neck.

“Pony,” Ann whines, her high voice cutting into the still evening. “Yes, yes, yes.”

And then Ann is shaking and gasping and -

Feels a bit weird to be watching this, doesn’t it?

Let’s turn our attention the other way; give them a bit of privacy. As we turn the other way, we see a petite, dark-haired woman walking slowly down the street. She’s staring at her phone, scowling. What you can’t know (but I’ll tell you) is that she’s just had a fight with her husband, whom she has left in the hotel - the same hotel the Listers are staying in, by the way. She’s in her mid-40s, slim, and wealthy, if her clothes, purse, and cell phone are any indication. Her black heels click along the sidewalk, her dark red slacks swish against her legs, and her low-cut black shirt peeks out from beneath her tan trench coat, flapping behind her as she walks. She looks up, just for a moment, and her face falls.

“Freddie?”

Anne whips around, her face flushed from exertion, her trousers still open at the waist, and her belt unclasped and dangling. Her smug grin shifts to surprise then lands at confusion. She wipes her hand hastily on her jeans, jolting slightly as Ann comes around behind her. Ann, for her part, is putting up a good front while transitioning from orgasm to meeting a stranger in the dark street; she’s tidied her dress, and now she wraps her hand around Anne’s bicep. Her eyes move between Anne’s face and that of this posh woman now standing dangerously close. 

“Mary,” Anne says, her voice cool and controlled. “I didn’t know you were in town.”

“Didn’t you? You haven’t been answering my texts.”

That’s when Ann Walker realizes what Anne already knew (and you probably did too, didn’t you?) - this dark-haired stranger with the sly smirk is Mariana Lawton. And she’s currently tracing one finger across Anne’s sternum.

“I told you,” Anne sighs, “I’m not doing that anymore.”

“It seems you are doing that. Just not with me,” Mariana’s eyes flick over to Ann. “In an alley, Fred? Really? What’s this poor girl’s husband going to say when you drop her off tomorrow? He’ll notice.”

She nods at the dark marks blooming along Ann’s neck; she brings a hand to her throat, as if she could wipe away the evidence Anne had left there. Anne clicks her tongue and fastens her trousers and belt.

“Mariana, I’d like you to meet my fiancée, Ann Walker. Ann, this is Mariana Lawton.”

“Ann Walker,” Mariana drawls. It is not lost on any of the women that she does not extend her hand. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Have you?” Ann said quietly. Her hand is gripping Anne’s arm, but Anne shifts to take Ann’s waist. Ann nestles into her side, grateful for the firm body pressing against her own. 

“So sad.” Mariana’s voice is that of an indulgent teacher speaking to a particularly slow student. “Your life, I mean. Tragedy after tragedy, and then - well, I know you’ve had your health troubles.”

“Mary,” Anne warns, her hand digging into Ann’s hip. “Ann is going to be my wife, and I’ll thank you to be civil.” 

“Wife,” Mariana spits, “as if that ever meant anything to you.” 

And it’s then, if you’re watching closely, that you can see two changes in Anne Lister: the first is the slight bulge of a vein in her right temple. The second, more importantly, is the realization that Mariana Lawton had never intended to marry her.

From our vantage point, we can see what each woman is thinking, so let’s take a closer look.

Ann Walker has the clearest stream of consciousness. Anxiety and fear - those come easily to her. A dose of anger at Mariana’s rudeness. A dash of arousal at Anne’s low, possessive voice.

Anne Lister? She’s reeling through several emotions at once - fury at Mariana’s words, her tone, that damned smirk that used to send a jolt of desire through her. Then there’s underlying grief and disappointment; the woman she’d dreamed of, finally, wanting her. Putting up a fight for her. Just when it’s too late. But then, connecting all of this, is understanding; Anne sees, in this moment, that Mariana held her in contempt. She’d begged and seduced and flirted, but she did not respect Anne, not in a real way. Despite being the wife in question, she looked down on Anne for sleeping with another man’s wife. She saw Anne as a tool, a means to her own ends. For a good time call… And this pipe dream Anne had nursed for two decades? The one of two wives, Mariana Lister, all the rest? It was never more than a fantasy. 

If we take a look at Mariana, though, it’s a bit more complicated than Anne assumes.This web of marriage and commitment and desire and love is all a bit tangled for her, and she’s hardly aware of the effect she’s having. Of course, she means to hurt Anne and, by extension, her little woman. That much is intentional. If she ever truly meant to leave Charles and marry Anne Lister? That is a mystery, even to her own heart. Some days, yes, she would say, emphatically yes. On others? Maybe. And then there were days she was consumed by fear and paranoia - leaving a comfortable marriage to a wealthy man was no small task. Certainly not when the destination was a lesbian relationship with an eccentric landowner in rural Yorkshire. No, there were most definitely days Mariana had no intention of leaving Charles.

And so, as we return to the situation at hand, each woman has her own mixed up feelings and fears and desires. Can anyone ever, truly, know their own heart?

“Listen here,” Anne snarls, “I have wasted the better part of my life chasing after you. At your beck and call. Tearing myself to bits at every cold word and physical snub and missed date. Don’t.” Anne says firmly when Mariana opens her mouth. “We both know it’s the truth. What I will not do, Mary,” she wields the name like a dagger, “is lose the rest of my life to your games. Do you understand? This ends now. Do not call me. Do not text me.”

For a moment, all three women are thinking the same thing: holy shit.

Once and for all, Anne Lister knows her own heart.

Mariana is on the verge of tears, and Anne represses the old habit of taking care of her, relenting, comforting. She inhales and places a hand on Mariana’s slim shoulder.

“I would like for us to be friends, really. If you think that’s possible. Let me know if you find that our friendship is enough. Ann and I would love to have you at the Hall.”

Mariana nods mutely, and Anne squeezes her shoulder. They pause for a beat, both mourning the past. Then Anne pulls away, walking slowly down the street with Ann on her arm. For several minutes, neither of them speak.

“I’m very proud of you, Pony,” Ann says softly as they approach the hotel. 

“Thank you.”

“Let’s have a drink.”

“What?” Anne furrows her brow in confusion, but there’s a smile playing at her lips. 

“Let me tell you this,” Ann whispers in her ear. “I have never been so hot for you.”

“Really?”

“God, yes. I’d like to screw you right here, like a teenager.”

“So do it,” Anne dares, her eyes flicking to the women’s bathroom behind them.

Ann grins and tugs at her hand. Laughing, they tumble into the quiet restroom. It’s nearly midnight by now, and the place is empty. Anne makes sure of it, checking every stall before allowing Ann to push her back into the last one. 

It’s a bit larger, this stall, and, really, they should’ve felt guilty for taking advantage of the changing station like that. And yet they do, Anne yanking the table down and hoisting Ann on top of it. Good Lord, you’d think that flimsy plastic couldn’t support a grown woman, but Ann Walker is very petite. Besides, she’s barely perched on the edge anyway, her pale legs swinging in the air as Anne holds her close and kisses her fiercely. 

“Pony,” Ann gasps, and Anne pulls back with a grin. “If you don’t let me,” she jumps to the floor, “have you right now, I think I’ll lose my mind.” 

Anne’s grin grows wider, and she drops her hands to her own belt, tugging at the supple leather with that tailored confidence that never fails to make her future wife weak in the knees. Ann dives forward, pressing her into the cool wall, yanking and shoving until her jeans and boxers pool around her feet. Though she’d never admit to being “weak in the knees,” Anne couldn’t deny how arousing Ann was when she got like this.

“Adney,” she groans as Ann kneels before her, running her tongue along her belly, over her hips, to the tops of her thighs. “Oh, fuck.” 

Pressing one hand to the back of Ann’s head, she closes her eyes and leans back against the wall. If Anne’s mind could process it, she would see the sentimental side of this. The way that Ann devoured her eagerly and devotedly, in a (semi)public place. The contrast with Mariana - surely, that much is obvious. 

Ann had hung on her arm all night, enchanted by her meandering stories, her masculine affectations, her affinity for dark beer; Mariana had hated all of these. Ann wore her ring proudly; after three drinks, she’d even told the bartender and several strangers that Anne was the smartest and funniest person on the planet. She’d even bet Anne could beat them at arm-wrestling. Not that they’d asked, of course.

Kneeling here between her legs is the best thing in Anne’s life - past, present, or future. Ann Walker - perfection embodied in a green dress. Her mouth works Anne’s clit like it was made specifically for this purpose. Anne has always been self-consciously of her narrow, boyish hips, but now she wonders if they were made to fit into Ann’s dainty hands. 

“Adney,” she gasps again, slumping forward as her release washes over her. 

In a bit of comedic timing, it is the exact moment that the door swings open, and a nameless woman enters the bathroom. Giggling and shushing and fumbling, our heroes hustle to the sinks for a cursory wash then out into the hallway. They’re convinced the stranger was totally oblivious, but, between you and me, she totally knew. 

Anne brings her beer and Ann’s wine to the edge of the bar where the blonde is perched. They drink and laugh and brush knees. Anne is desperate to get upstairs, but Ann keeps urging her to stay, one more drink.

“We never get out of the house,” Ann whines, toying with the collar of Anne’s jacket, now returned around her broad shoulders. 

“It’s late, darling.”

“I like being out with you.”

Anne’s heart twists again. We all know the significance of this moment, of Anne’s partner wanting to be seen with her. Will it help to describe the warmth in her gut or the sad curve of her lip? How about the crinkling of her eyes as she studies the woman who loves her more than anyone else ever had? What about the bark of laughter that she lets out as Ann wobbles on the rung of her barstool, raising her glass?

“I love this woman!” Ann yells to the three lingering customers. Anne is still laughing, only now realizing how drunk poor Ann is. “I love Anne Lister!”

And then one of the barflies turns his grey head. He’s paunchy, red-faced, but he’s not drunk. That’s just his face. His expensive suit is wrinkled, his tie loose around his throat, still crooked from where he’d tugged at it. The glass in front of him is half-empty. As he turns, Anne recognizes him. She’s not nearly as drunk as Ann.

“Anne Lister!” He crows.

“Charles Lawton,” she says evenly.

Ann, wide-eyed and trying to understand, sinks back onto her stool. She can’t quite put the pieces together. 

“What are you doing here?” Charles is advancing steadily, his face jovial as he pounds on Anne’s back. She is stiff, but not unfriendly. 

“Out for a night with my girl.” Hearing her words she realizes perhaps she is a bit drunker than previously thought. “Fiancée, I mean,” she shakes her head. “Ann Walker.”

Charles holds out his hand with a grin. Ann shakes it, noting how clammy his meaty paw is.

“And you?” Anne is trying to put together what the Lawtons would be doing in Halifax at all.

“The same!” Charles laughs. “Or trying. We’ve had a bit of a row,” he swirls his drink. “I’ll bet she’s told you already.” Then, to Ann: “I’m sure you know Anne is best of friends with my wife. Thick as thieves!”

Both women force themselves to laugh. Ann can’t help feeling a bit of pity for the poor guy, no idea of the secret life his wife had been living for their entire marriage. Anne wants nothing more than to get away from him; she tries, but she’s never been able to be totally comfortable with him. It’s guilt mixed with sadness and fear and revulsion. Her nose crinkles automatically, as if Charles smells bad on top of everything else. Which, to be honest, he kind of does. 

“We saw her, actually, on our way back here,” Anne says, rising.

“Did you?” 

“Yes. And I think,” Anne says gently, “she’ll be anxious to make up. She knows you’re meant to be together.” 

The irony is lost only on Charles.

“I’ll call her,” he says resolutely. “We’ve got the room, after all,” and now he’s laughing. “507, welcome to heaven!”

“That’s right next to our room!” Ann says a bit too loudly. Anne makes a mental note to get her to drink plenty of water before they fall asleep. 

“Oh good,” Charles smiles. “We were in there last night, and let me tell you - whoever had your room before you? Tearing the roof off the place! I haven’t heard that kind of depravity and moaning in years. I thought about calling the front desk, but whatever he was doing? She loved it!” Charles chuckles, and Ann feels certain her face cannot get any redder. “I mean, God, we could barely sleep! Mariana was so upset. You know how shy she is.”

His nudge only cements Anne’s discomfort. It is now that we can see Mariana’s loss in full. She’d heard Anne’s speech those months ago, but it was far away, separated by the phones, the miles, the pandemic. Of course, she’d recognized Anne through the too-thin walls last night. The grunts and murmurs and headboard-thumping.No one on earth had heard those sounds more often than she had. This time, she was separated from Anne's new life by a wall - a thin wall, but a wall nonetheless. And then she’d seen them together in that alley. She knew what Anne Lister looked like when she fucked, and she knew what she looked like when she was happy. Her heart sunk as she’d recognized both in the quiet Halifax night. The full tragedy of her life is now clear to us; the proof of Anne’s transformation, commitment, and happiness had been thrust in her face three times. She couldn’t deny it. 

Sure, I could’ve told you all of that back when they met on the street, but where’s the suspense in that?

“Of course,” Anne nods, knowing Mariana was only “shy” around her husband because she couldn’t stand the combined pressure of her husband and her lover and the topic of sex. She’d always protest, cover her ears, leave the room. Anne always saw through her, and she loved to tease her about it. “I’d better get this one to bed,” Anne says, running her hand over Ann’s back. 

Poor Ann is dozing into her shoulder. She rouses herself with a snort, blinking rapidly. Charles laughs good-naturedly, and Anne shakes his hand. She guides Ann to their room, puts her in her nightshirt, and cajoles her into drinking three glasses of water. Anne strips to her boxers and snuggles in behind her, smiling in contentment as she drifts away.

When Ann nudges her awake three hours later, Anne isn’t even tired. And neither, it seems, is the perfect woman now straddling her. 

“I wasn’t quite finished with you,” Ann purrs as she brings their lips together.

This time, when they make love, they’re slow and patient. They’d been so rushed and frantic - in the alley, in the bathroom. Now, they take their time. Anne sits up in bed; Ann is so warm and supple and wanting in her lap. Hands move slowly, lips meet tenderly, hips grind gently. They’re both still halfway sleepy from the drinks and the nap, and they build their mutual fire piece by piece. 

Anne kisses her throat - one flame.

Her hand slips under the old, faded t-shirt of Anne’s that now hangs around those pale shoulders - another.

Ann’s fingers tug gently at that dark hair - the flame swells.

Their hips roll in tandem - the flames curl in their bellies, desire lapping between their legs.

And now Anne is flipping her onto her back, giggling and shushing and kissing. They are both only too aware of the slim barrier separating the Listers and the Lawtons. Anne’s hand trails down that pale stomach, slips between waiting legs, and teases Ann’s entrance. 

As she speeds up, however, their headboard starts to bump against the wall. She stops. Trying again only elicits a sharp squeak from the bed frame. She stops again. Ann whines.

“Pony.”

“Come on.”

Anne rolls out of bed and tugs off the soft comforter. She flops it on the ground, making a little pallet, then pulls out the top sheet. She covers the comforter, making them a soft little nest. 

“Pony,” Ann whines again.

“Come on,” Anne repeats herself, tossing a pillow down, then scooping Ann in her arms.

Giggling, Ann nestles herself on top of her Pony, and they pick up where they left off. Anne’s hand starts its gentle rhythm, and Ann straddles her thigh, riding those strong fingers to her release. She straightens her back for a few moments, palming her breasts under her shirt. Anne can’t believe how gorgeous this woman is. 

“You’re so beautiful,” she whispers, squeezing Ann’s hip. “God, you look so fucking good.”

“Pony,” Ann whimpers, leaning forward on her elbows. “Fuck me, Pony, God, fu-”

And then she’s trembling in Anne’s strong arms, muttering as her release washed over her. Their lips meet lazily, their breaths synchronizing, and their hearts beating in rhythm. Ann kisses the thick column of Anne’s neck. She sucks at the hollow of her throat. She drags her tongue across her firm stomach, grinning as her abdominals tense when Ann hooks her fingers in her boxers. Strong hands tangle in her hair, and Ann’s tongue finds that hard bud of desire. 

Let’s leave them to it, shall we?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Hope this one wasn't too out there. I know it's different from anything else I've written, but I couldn't get it out of my head. Kind of a fun jaunt. I don't know. Maybe not. 
> 
> The voting over Scotland vs. starting school was very close, but I'm going to go with the latter. It feels right to me to explore the Ann(e)s trying to find a normal routine, rather than another out-of-the-ordinary situation. Plus GJ2104 had a great idea about them visiting at half-term, which I think would work really well. A nice, long visit. I think a weekend trip could work, just so Anne meets Elizabeth, but Google tells me the drive is nearly 8 hours from Halifax to Inverness?? Any British readers have any insight into how they'd probably travel? Like, do people typically drive that? Or is it a flying situation? My ignorance is showing. Now I've just about talked myself into them shooting up to Scotland for a day... I'm really undecided. It'll be a surprise for me just as much as it is to you.
> 
> The ending based on "Her bedstocks creaked so that, the people in the adjoining room being up, I put Miss W's bedding on the floor and we had a good long kiss" July 26, 1834.
> 
> Anyway! Thank you for reading, and please let me know what you thought!


	6. First Day Jitters

Ann barely slept the night before the first day of the new term. Partly because she was determined to wake up early and make love to her wife before her workday. And partly because her wife - her handsome, intelligent, caring wife - could not stop tossing and turning. She’d wrap her arms tightly around Ann’s middle, then huff into her back, then turn her back to Ann, then start the process again. Finally, somewhere between two and three in the morning, she sighed and turned in Anne’s embrace. 

“Pony, what is it?”

“Nothing.” Even in the darkness, Ann could read her wife’s face. It most certainly was not nothing. 

“Pony.”

“It’s fine.” Anne’s voice was strained. Ann reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. 

“It’s not.”

“Forget it,” Anne said as she turned away.

“Pony,” Ann sighed. 

“Let’s just sleep.”

“Anne Lister.” Ann wrapped her arms around Anne’s middle and pressed her body close to her strong back. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“It’s -” Anne sighed, “it’s the first day of school.”

“Right.” Ann was not following. 

“I just - it can - I mean, there’s a lot to think about.”

“Like what?” Ann pressed her lips to the sliver of skin just above her shirt

“Like - like learning the names and getting through the syllabus and engaging students and making a strong first impression and -”

“Anne, Anne, hold on. You’ve done this plenty of times.”

“Well, yes, but - every year it’s the same. I always get like this the night before.” Ann’s heart swelled; how was Anne Lister so cute? “And this year is different.”

“How is that?”

“Well, I’m Department Head. Not permanently, but -”

“I understand.”

“And then there’s you.”

“Me?” Ann laughed. “What do I have to do with it?”

“Well, I’ve never been in an open relationship and -”

“We’re not in an open relationship,” Ann teased, tugging Anne closer. 

“You know what I mean,” Anne clicked her tongue. “I’ve never been able to tell people that I’m in a relationship while I’ve been a professor. Not that I would necessarily tell anyone, but they’ll know. With my clothes. I have a reputation for always wearing black, so the second the students see me… they’ll know.”

“Is that bad?” Ann said quietly.

“No.” Anne was emphatic, automatic. 

“You can wear black. To work. Or any time.”

“No.” Anne was emphatic again. 

Ann smiled and kissed the back of Anne’s neck. She let silence stretch between them, her arm rising and falling with Anne’s breathing. Anne was getting better at expressing her feelings, and Ann was getting better at listening. She loved these vulnerable moments, when their roles reversed; Anne was so good about taking care of her, so it felt nice to be able to hold her every now and then.

“I’m just nervous,” Anne admitted. “It’s embarrassing to - you know, to say those things. To say that I’m in love.”

“You don’t have to tell them that,” Ann said gently. “If you don’t want to.”

“They’ll be able to tell.”

“And that’s a bad thing?”

“No, God, no of course that’s - it’s the best thing in my life,” Anne turned to face her. “Being in love with you is the best thing in my life,” Anne said seriously, and Ann smiled softly. “I just don’t like being - you know, sharing my feelings.” 

“I had no idea,” Ann teased. 

“It’s just -” Anne shook her head. “I have a very carefully-cultivated image - heartless, rakish, devastatingly handsome.” Anne grinned, and Ann pinched her side. “Very cynical, you know? In the black.”

“Wear just a little bit of the black, hmmm?”

“What?”

“Wear a black suit today,” Ann pressed herself closer to her wife. “And a white shirt. Black tie. And then you can tell them you’re getting married in the spring, and -” she shrugged, “they’ll figure it out.”

“I don’t usually, uh, tell my students about my personal life.”

“Not at all?” Ann furrowed her brow.

“Well, no.”

“Maybe you should.”

“Why?” 

“Because, Anne,” she drawled, “students want to get to know you. Do you get a lot of non-majors in your classes?”

“Some,” Anne said warily.

“Why do you think they sign up for a Latin class? Or Greek? Because it’s so interesting?”

Anne said nothing.

“Maybe it’s because you’re interesting, Pony. Maybe because they know Dr. Lister is a great teacher. Maybe because they’ve heard you’re a prick, and they want to see for themselves.”

Anne laughed and shook her head. 

“You said your Intro class has a waitlist?”

“Yes,” Anne said with a smile.

“So all those kids signed up to hear whatever you have to say. The curmudgeonly professor finds love? They’re going to eat that up.”

Anne grinned and swung her leg across Ann’s lap, crashing their lips together. Ann raised her hands to thread in Anne’s thick hair, reveling in the feeling of Anne’s strong body all around her. Her hands trailed down Ann’s body, toying with the hem of her shirt; the shirt was an old pajama top of Anne’s, and Anne had nearly ripped it from her shoulders when they fell into bed last night. Hours later, when Ann finally retrieved it and pulled it onto her sore body, Anne had nearly taken her again. Now, she toyed with the buttons along Ann’s belly, spreading the shirt gently until Ann’s chest was bare.

“Adney,” she whispered as her lips traced over Ann’s collarbones. “You make me crazy.”

Ann grinned, relaxing into her wife’s delicate, careful worship. Anne’s tongue dragged between her breasts, over her nipples, along her ribs. She took one breast in her mouth, sucking gently, while her strong hand turned as soft as silk and covered the other. Ann arched into her touch, sighing softly as desire coiled in her gut. They’d fallen asleep less than four hours ago, sated and sweaty and spent. Here they were, again.

It had only been a few days since their nights in the hotel, and Ann felt their sex life had hit the perfect stride. Anne was more attentive, more present, and more patient. There was a time, in the late spring, when Anne had been determined that every time had to be the best they’d ever had. She had a competitiveness about her, Ann realized, and as the lockdown dragged into May, Anne had nearly thrown her wife’s back out several times in pursuit of this goal. It was exhilarating, but it was also exhausting. Ann was relieved that they’d settled a bit more, and that her wife no longer tried to beat her “personal best” every time they touched each other. 

And now, Anne was pushing her knees apart and slipping them over her shoulders. Her lips were impossibly gentle as she moved across Ann’s core; she lapped at Ann’s folds and flicked her clit so slowly that Ann thought she might lose her mind. Her mouth worked steadily, tenderly, easing Ann toward her release. The fire burning between Ann’s legs spread into her gut, across her chest, down into her trembling thighs. Impatient, she took her own breast in one hand and buried the other in Anne’s hair. 

“Pony,” she moaned, desire threatening to break her apart. She was so close, and Anne was so slow. “Pony, please.” Anne’s wide grin spread across her aching core. “God, Pony, you’re - fuck, you’re impossible.”

“Am I?” Anne’s breath was hot against her inner thighs. Ann whimpered. “Can’t I take my time with you?” She kissed the tender spot where Ann’s right thigh joined her torso. “Don’t you trust me?” She kissed the same spot on the left side. “Don’t you know, darling Adney,” she kissed her clit; Ann shoved her fist in her mouth to keep from crying out, “that the journey is half the fun?”

Ann whined, her hips straining under Anne’s strong hands; reaching one hand up to palm her breast, Anne dipped her head back down to Ann’s core. She was merciless now, sending Ann into a shuddering release; Ann’s hand clenched in her hair, the other still blocking the wanton cries in her throat. Anne eased every drop of arousal from her, then rolled out of bed. 

“Pony,” Ann panted. “Come here.” She held an arm out.

“Can’t,” Anne was already flicking on the closet light and stripping out of her pajamas. “I’m too worked up.”

“I know, darling,” Ann said patiently, “so if you’ll come back here…”

“No, I mean,” Anne was stepping into those tiny shorts, the ones that made Ann’s mouth water, “I’m jittery. I’m - I need to go for a run.”

“A run?” Ann was certain she had misheard her. “It’s four o’clock in the morning.”

“And I feel like I’m about to burst,” Anne was tugging on a sports bra and a t-shirt.

“So come here, you weirdo.”

“Really, darling, I wouldn’t be focused. I can’t -” Anne sat on the edge of the bed and tugged on her socks; she sighed. “I’m nervous about today, and I want to think about what I’m going to say and how I’m going to act. I need a bit of time to work that out, and I’m full of all this energy. I can’t, um,” Anne’s mouth twitched as she found the words. “I know I won’t be able to come like this. I’m going to run and think, and I’ll be back before you know it.”

“Okay,” Ann couldn’t keep the disappointment from her voice.

“Do you mind?” Anne turned to her. “I - I can stay if you want me to.”

Ann sighed and considered. Of course she would prefer that Anne stay, but she could see what Anne was getting at. She needed time to herself to think about something that only she understood. It was no use feeling jealous, Ann told herself. It was just work. Anne would be right back. All sweaty and slick and smelling of outside…

“No, darling,” Ann squeezed her arm, “go ahead. I’ll be right here. Wake me up when you get back, okay? I’m desperate for you.” 

“Okay,” Anne said softly and kissed her. “You say you’re desperate for me, Mrs. Lister, but you’re going to fall asleep?” She chuckled as she stood.

“What else can I do?” Ann pouted. “In this big bed all by myself?”

Anne laughed, shaking her head, and disappeared into the dark hallway. With a sigh, Ann snuggled back into the pillows. Before she knew it, the bedroom door was creaking open again. She sat up and turned on her bedside lamp to see Anne Lister, as sexy as perhaps she’d ever seen her. Short, black athletic socks covered her feet, and there were traces of mud along her long, toned legs. Those impossible shorts - not even reaching the middle of her thighs, loose where the tight, compression shorts underneath molded to her muscular shape. And she was - Ann swallowed dryly - lifting the hem of her shirt to her neck, wiping away sweat and revealing her slick abs. Her hair was held in a tight ponytail, with stray wisps cemented onto her forehead. Ann’s entire body thrummed with desire. 

“Good morning,” Anne purred, tugging her t-shirt over her head. “Did you miss me?”

“Yes, Pony, God, get over here.”

Anne leapt into bed with a laugh, cradling Ann’s face as she kissed her. Her lips tasted salty, and Ann couldn’t help darting her tongue out to deepen the kiss. Their tongues slid together sloppily, as Ann’s hands reached out for every inch of slick skin she could reach - Anne’s broad back, her strong arms, the thick column of her neck. Anne was hot, sweaty, fumbling over Ann’s top, twisting the buttons, palming her breasts. Ann jerked her hips upward in an attempt to flip Anne on her back, but she was too strong. Anne nipped at her bottom lip and sat back on her heels with a smirk.

“Did you have a good run?” Ann traced her fingertips over Anne’s stomach.

“Yes,” Anne purred.

“I thought you had a problem in your knee,” Ann pressed her nose to the crook of her neck, where her scent was the strongest. 

“Well, yes,” Anne tilted her head back, “I’m really not supposed to run on it, but -”

Ann took this opportunity to flip her distracted wife onto her back. Anne sputtered a laugh, and Ann descended on her clavicle. Her skin was salty, too, and Ann couldn’t help moaning as she worked her way around and over Anne’s sports bra. Anne’s laughter had turned into soft hums as Ann sucked at her collarbones, her sternum, just below the elastic of her bra. 

“Adney,” she gasped as Ann’s lips traveled across her stomach. 

Ann grinned as she pulled away, surveying the sweaty, writhing mess that was her wife. She hated to dispense with those lovely little shorts. Anne tugged at the tails of Ann’s pajama top, lifting her hips; Ann shivered as the warm, slippery material pressed between her legs. 

“These shorts,” Ann said appreciatively, “you know how I love them.”

“I do,” Anne purred. 

“I can’t believe how sexy you are,” Ann whispered as she shifted to straddle one of Anne’s thighs, dropping down to one forearm. “how strong,” her fingers slipped below the waistband of her tight compression shorts, “and healthy,” she kissed Anne’s neck, “and sweaty.” She brushed Anne’s clit.

“Sweaty?” Anne laughed breathlessly. 

“Yes.” Ann nipped her jugular.

“That’s what does it for you?” Anne tried to tease, but her voice cracked as Ann pressed more firmly. 

“Pony,” Ann whispered in her ear, “for once in your life,” her tongue darted out to trace the shell, “be quiet.” She nipped at her earlobe.

Anne exhaled through her nose, and then closed her eyes. Ann continued to work steadily between her legs, those powerful hips rising into her touch. The angle and the tightness of Anne’s waistbands cut into her wrist, but Ann didn’t mind. There was nothing she wouldn’t do right now to bring Anne the relief she needed. The relief they both needed. Because as desperately Anne was writhing below her, Ann felt just as needy to pull her ecstasy from her, stroke by stroke. With only a few more well-placed touches and kisses, Anne was curling upward, her hand tightening around Ann’s shoulder as she mumbled softly.

“Fuck, fuck, yes, Ad-” she broke off with a gasp, then flopped back into the sheets. 

Ann slid her hand out of the shorts, then pressed her lips to Anne’s. Grabbing her wrist, Anne brought her wet fingers to her mouth, sucking gently, tongue tracing between them. Ann had meant to send her wife directly to the shower, get started with their day; after all, hadn’t Anne buried herself between her legs just over an hour ago? It didn’t matter. It never did. Ann needed her again. 

“Pony,” she said softly. 

Anne grinned fiendishly, taking Ann’s breasts in her hands, rolling her nipples between her fingers. Ann stretched upright, straightening her back and pressing into Anne’s touch. 

“Dirty girl, Miss Walker.” 

Ann whimpered.

“Taking this sweaty, dirty woman.” 

Anne’s hand trailed down her stomach, slipped between the thatch of blonde hair between her legs. 

“Into your bed.”

She teased Ann’s clit, slid between her folds, probed her entrance. Ann closed her eyes, covering Anne’s hand on her breast with her own.

“And fucking her senseless.”

Ann would’ve laughed, if her wife hadn’t taken that exact moment to thrust into her. Rolling her hips, Ann started a slow rhythm, as Anne’s thumb slipped over her clit. They moved in sync, and soon Anne stretched her with a second finger. 

“Riding her hand.” Anne clicked her tongue. “Shameless.” 

“Pony-” Ann managed. Her release was building rapidly, her hips bucking against Anne’s firm thigh. 

“Oh, darling,” Anne soothed. “You’re so close, aren’t you?”

A moan. A nod.

“Got yourself pretty worked up, did you?”

Another moan. Another nod.

“God, you’re beautiful.”

Ann fell forward now, her arms shaking with the effort of holding herself up. 

“Come on, Adney.” Anne craned her neck to take Ann’s nipple in her mouth. She released it with a pop. “Let go, darling.”

And she did. Of course. With a high-pitched whine, Ann slumped into Anne’s chest. Her release washed over her like a wave she’d underestimated; she’d thought she was headed for a gentle ebb, but she was bowled over by a white-capped crest. 

“Good girl,” Anne whispered in her ear, still drawing the remnants of her orgasm from her. “That’s my good girl.” 

And Good Lord, if Ann didn’t love to hear that low voice coaxing her through. Being Anne Lister’s “good girl” was quite possibly her favorite thing in the world. Anne kissed the hollow of her throat and pulled her hand away. With a final sigh, Ann rolled onto her back, panting at the ceiling. 

“Good morning,” Anne grinned, turning on her side and propping her head on her arm. 

“Good morning,” Ann turned her head and tilted her chin. 

Anne kissed her softly, then pulled away. Ann shook her head, grabbed her shoulder, and kissed her again. 

“You know better than that, Dr. Lister,” Ann chided. “Two kisses every morning.”

“Was two orgasms not enough?” Anne teased, sliding her hand under Ann’s top and squeezing her hip. 

“Never enough,” Ann grinned. 

“Insatiable.” Anne leaned in for one more kiss, then hopped out of bed. “I’m off to shower.”

Ann hummed and snuggled into the pillows, pulling the covers to her chin. 

“What time do you have to leave?”

“Eight.” Anne paused in the doorway to the adjoining room. Ann missed her warm body already.

“So you’ll miss breakfast?” Ann hadn’t even considered this as a possibility. 

“I think I’ll have to.” Anne’s voice was apologetic. 

“Okay.”

“Hey,” Anne came back to the edge of the bed, kneeling in front of Ann’s face. “Will you be okay?”

“Of course.” Anne had been going to work for a few weeks now. It shouldn’t have bothered her this much.

“I would stay, if I could,” Anne bit her lip. “But I - I don’t - I’m sorry.”

“No,” Ann shook her head. “Don’t be sorry. I - I don’t know why I'm like this.”

“Adney, no, hey,” Anne cupped her cheek. Ann’s cheeks burned as tears welled in her eyes. “I wish I could - I mean, I have to go. Do you - do you want to come with me?”

“No,” Ann shook her head. “No, no, that’s - I can be home alone. I won’t even be alone,” she chuckled; “the house is full of people.”

“But will you be okay?” 

“I’ll miss you,” Ann said softly.

“And I’ll miss you.”

For a moment, Ann just stared into those deep brown eyes. She inhaled. Anne wiped a fallen tear with her thumb.

“I guess I just - it feels like our little bubble is bursting. Even when you were going to work before, it was - it was still summer. But now, it’s over. And you’re Dr. Lister the professor again. And the mentor and the Department Head and - and all these people will know you and have claims to you and - and you’re not just mine anymore.” 

“Oh, Ann,” she breathed, “I’m always yours. I’m those other things too but,” Anne paused, bit her lip, “above all of that, I’m yours. Always. No matter what I’m doing or who I’m with. Whether I’m in the lecture hall or my office or in the middle of the street. I’m yours.”

And Ann smiled. Of course, Anne was hers. The whole thing was just resistance to change. Hadn’t they just gone through this whole reconnection song and dance? Hadn’t they proven that their commitment could withstand some distance? 

“Okay,” Ann said softly. “Now go get your shower, you dirty dog.”

Anne laughed and kissed her. Her knees cracked as she stood, and Ann watched her go. She spun around in the doorway once more.

“We’ve got two hours before I have to leave. I’m going to shower, and then I’m coming right back into that bed.”

“Pony,” Ann warmed, fearing Anne would never get to work if they started up again.

“For a cuddle,” Anne scolded. “Get your mind out of the gutter, Mrs. Lister.”

Ann laughed and rolled her eyes. Anne disappeared into the adjoining room, and Ann closed her eyes. Next thing she knew, Anne’s strong arms were wrapping around her again. 

“You are the sleepiest woman I’ve ever met.” Anne’s voice was low in her ear. 

“Worn out,” Ann teased, pressing backward into Anne’s warm body.

“Do you want to know something?”

“Absolutely.”

“Earlier, you said you always want two kisses.”

“Yes,” Ann toyed with Anne’s long fingers. “You know this.”

“Well, I was thinking about our morning, and… do you know what I call orgasms in my journal?”

“What?” Ann turned around with a laugh. She could see now that Anne was only in her undershirt, felt the soft fabric of her boxer-briefs. A dandy like Anne wouldn’t want to be wrinkled on the first day of classes. 

“Kisses,” Anne husked.

“What?” Ann laughed again. “Why don’t you write orgasm? Or sex?” Ann felt herself blushing at the words, as foolish as it was.

“When I’m writing in my journal,” Anne’s voice was sultry, “I like to record how many times my partner comes. How many times I come. But it’s awfully clinical, isn’t it? Not very romantic.” Anne kissed her softly. “So you demanding two kisses? After getting two kisses? I don’t know. It just seemed… fitting”

Ann stifled another laugh, sensing this was something Anne likely had never told anyone else. The eccentricities and peculiarities of her wife never failed to amaze her. And it was pretty adorable, wasn’t it? That Anne Lister felt “orgasm” was overly sterile, but she was too competitive and boastful to go without recording the exact number. Ann brushed her knuckles over Anne’s cheek and smiled.

“You are a very special person, Pony.”

“Am I?” Anne’s eyes narrowed.

“Of course.” Ann nuzzled into her chest. “I am just in awe of you. All the time.”

“Two kisses,” Anne said before bringing their lips together once. Then twice. 

“If you’re going to keep making fun of me,” Ann drawled, “I’ll start needing three kisses.”

“Three!” Anne laughed and pulled Ann tighter to her chest.

“So what are you going to say? To your students?”

Anne’s low voice filled the room as she outlined her first-day speech. Her hands trailed along Ann’s back and hip. Ann toyed with the collar of her undershirt, memorizing the curve of her throat and the line of her clavicle. By the time Anne slipped away to dress, Ann was ready to let her go. It didn’t need to feel so dire, but somehow it did. Their small world was expanding. The whirlwind spring and summer were officially over. She could feel the new phase of their life beginning, but she wasn’t afraid anymore. 

“Will I do?” Anne asked, presenting her black tie for knotting. Her black trousers were crisp, and her white shirt was starched. She had on bright yellow socks, but Ann knew she’d cover them with her black boots. She smiled at the pop of color. 

“I remember another use for ties like this,” Ann said saucily as her hands moved confidently. “Perhaps I should tie you down, so you can’t leave.”

“Perhaps I should let you,” Anne husked.

Ann pulled her in by her tie, then brought their lips together fiercely. Anne’s hands settled on her hips for a moment, but then Ann broke away. 

“Off to work,” she gasped. “Don’t forget your lunch.”

“Have a lovely day, darling,” Anne straightened her tie. “I can’t wait to see you tonight.”

“I’m counting the hours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> I really intended to at least get to the breakfast table with this section, but it kept snowballing. I'm really bad about getting into the moment-to-moment details; broad strokes are not my comfort zone. 
> 
> Ending based loosely on "Mariana came for a few minutes cuddle" July 12, 1826. If I remember right, this is when they're in Paris, and I think Charles is with them by this point. So even when they can't sleep together, Anne is still a big softy for cuddling. 
> 
> Coming up next, I think we'll see Anne's first day of work, then Ann's day at home alone, then skip ahead to Ann paying her a visit or two. 
> 
> Thank you so so much for reading and for your lovely, generous comments. Let me know what you thought of this one - I really do crave your feedback.


	7. Professor Lister In Action

The first day of school was Anne’s favorite. The nerves fueled her. The tension in her stomach made her mind sharp. It was like going into battle, proving herself, separating the weak from the strong. Which students would drop immediately? Which would she spar with in every class? Would there be any students she actually liked? The anticipation was delicious. 

She couldn’t have asked for a better morning - a satisfying run and an even more satisfying romp with Ann. Nothing improved her mood more than holding her wife in her arms. Not to mention Ann’s encouraging words pumping her full of confidence; her dainty hands tying Anne’s necktie like a princess preparing her knight for a joust. Climbing into her Jeep, Anne felt on top of the world. There wasn’t even any traffic that morning. Anne started to suspect she was going to have a perfect first day of term. 

And then, just as she pulled into her parking spot, she spilled her coffee.

“Damn it!” She hissed, wrenching open the center console to find her stash of napkins. Ann had rolled her eyes, but Anne knew they’d come in handy. At least her coffee wasn’t scalding hot anymore. Small miracles. “Stupid white shirt,” she grumbled as she pulled her bag out of the back. 

Climbing the stairs to her second-floor office, Anne tried to regain her optimism. Today was a good day, she reminded herself, but she had been hopelessly soured. The dark halls of the Classics building looked grimy this morning, and her office seemed cramped. She had fifteen minutes before her morning class, and she slumped into her desk chair to collect her thoughts. Breathing deeply, she tried to rein in her frustration. The coffee stain wasn’t that noticeable. It was fine. She could handle this.

Toying with her phone in her hand, she considered texting Ann. No, she told herself, that was too much. She could handle this. She didn’t need her wife to wipe her shirt or massage her fragile ego. She was Anne Lister, damn it. Standing, she cracked her neck and buttoned her jacket. It was time to assert herself.

Her first class was at nine o’clock, and the topic was a favorite of hers. The Aeneid, in the original, translated line by line. The class was mostly older students, and, looking at the roster, Anne saw a number of familiar names. She enjoyed Virgil, especially the comparisons they could draw out in discussion: the futility of war, the meaning of family, the price of duty, the gendered ideals. This was sure to be a good one. 

Some professors liked to sweep in the room at the last minute, but Anne liked to watch her students enter. She saw Thomas Sowden lope in first; he was so shy around her, but she could tell he had a boldness in him. He’d been in her Intro course last fall, and he was fairly bright. Washington’s daughter followed him in - Susannah? Amelia? What the hell was her name? - she was properly brilliant. A pity she seemed to spend more time staring at the back of Sowden’s head than she did on her translations. Frances Pickford was next, a red-headed spitfire she recognized from her Catullus class two springs ago. She would be trouble, Anne knew, with her tight jeans and lingering glances and insinuating voice. It had been good fun to tease and joke with her back then, but Anne couldn’t allow that to continue. 

A dozen other students filled the small room, sliding into the rickety chairs with the wrap-around desks. A few poor souls pulled out laptops, but the wiser ones had only their notebooks and pens. Anne did not allow technology of any kind in her classes. She checked her watch: 8:58. 

Her phone buzzed - “Thinking of you, Pony! Your class is going to adore you. Have a lovely day 💞”

Anne grinned and pocketed her phone. Coffee stain or not, she was going to have an excellent day.

“Alright,” Anne clapped her hands once. The room fell silent. Her mood brightened even more. “I am Dr. Anne Lister, and I am very pleased to have you in class. Before we do anything else, I’m going to need all of you to put away the computers and cell phones.” 

She paused, watching those unfamiliar faces as they rifled through their bags. A few blushed in embarrassment, and a few grumbled and rolled their eyes. Adrenaline coursed through her veins. She strode down the center aisle to a young man still typing into his cell phone. She plucked it from his hands.

“Hey, I’m -”

“If you’re having an emergency, Mr. McGovern, please feel free to excuse yourself.” Anne was already walking away, moving purposefully to the front of the room. She’d studied the ID photos of her students, and his arrogant smirk had stuck in her mind. She was practically vibrating; this really was fun. “If you don’t, I'll be glad to hold on to this for you.” She placed it on the long desk at the front of the room, then leaned against it. Her long legs stretched in front of her, revealing a strip of yellow sock beneath her boots. The Sowden boy leaned over to whisper to the Washington girl. “Mr. Sowden, I’ll thank you not to speak while I’m speaking.”

Oh, yeah, she thought as he blushed and sank in his seat, this was going to be great fun. 

“Quickly, a few things. If this class is a lark for you, drop it today. Do not put all of us through the misery of your half-baked attention and bored stares. One hundred lines of translation are due each class, and you will be expected to share, discuss, and debate. We will use the Socratic method on certain occasions. Please be prepared. You may call me Dr. Lister and nothing else. We are not friends and we are not peers. I am your teacher, and you are my student. If you need something, please think long and hard before you ask me. That said, I will have open office hours today between eleven and one, and between three and four. Please get your stupid questions out then. In future, if you would like to meet with me, make an appointment at the website on your syllabus.”

She plopped a stack of thick packets of Pickford’s desk; the girl immediately hopped up to pass them out.

“Now,” she took off her suit jacket and rolled up her sleeves, “I’ve been told I should share a little more about myself. So - I own and manage Shibden Hall. I enjoy traveling.” She tried to remember what Ann had said about students wanting to get to know her. She inhaled. She’d gotten so worked up with her professor persona that she had trouble slowing down. She leaned against the desk again, crossing her arms and letting the yellow peek out again. 

“Has anyone noticed I’ve got a coffee stain?” She laughed, and a few of the kids laughed too. “This wasn’t such an issue when I wore all black.” She laughed again, and she could feel her students unclench. “But my wife thinks I should wear more color, so here I am. Coffee stain and all.”

There it was. She’d done it. Sure, Ann wasn't technically her wife, but fiancée was so ambiguous. As if her demeanor and necktie left her sexuality unclear. She smiled as she turned her back to the class to retrieve her copy of the syllabus. Now they would know, and she’d shared more of herself. Ann would be proud.

“Now, let’s go through this tome.”

The rest of the class passed easily, and Anne felt smug and satisfied as she handed the McGovern boy his cell phone back on his way out. He said nothing, and then the room was empty. She sighed in contentment and went down to her office.

At the very end of the hallway, Anne’s office was a touch smaller than her colleagues’. She preferred it, though, because it was secluded. Lost students were more likely to stumble into Jerry’s office than hers, and the dark wood and single, narrow window gave the entire room a foreboding feel. It was rather like Shibden in that way; perhaps that was why she liked it. Settling behind her desk, she scrolled through her phone. 

“So far, so good,” she texted Ann. “How is your day?”

Then she opened the lunchbox Ann had insisted on packing for her, despite Anne’s reminders that she never ate lunch. Inside, she found a granola bar, a banana, a box of tea bags, a small container of nuts, another of fruit, and an envelope. She grinned, tearing into the granola bar and the envelope. Inside, she found as she munched, was a short note of Ann’s careful cursive.

“Darling Pony,

I know you won’t eat a real lunch, but please indulge your wife in the simple pleasure of packing one for you. I’m missing you already, but I couldn’t be more proud of the person you are. Those students are very lucky - I hope they know what they’re in for!

All my love,  
Adney”

And then, below, Ann had sketched herself, smiling widely, with her arms around Argus; a speech bubble above her head said “come home soon!” 

With a grin, Anne tacked it on the corkboard with her school calendar and department course lists. Looking around her office, she realized how sparse it was. She should get a picture of Ann, she realized, a proper picture; perhaps she would print the one she’d taken of Ann in the parlor last week, when she was stretched out on the sofa, her pale legs in the air, and her skirt had ridden up to… No, perhaps not that photo.

The midday passed quickly enough, with only a handful of students daring to cross the threshold into Dr. Lister’s inner sanctum. She would be glad when the term got going, and she wouldn’t have to wait around during these open office hours. Anne actually enjoyed meeting with students, and she had a few of whom she was actively proud and in whose future she was invested. 

Just before one o’clock, she went down to the larger lecture hall on the first floor of the Classics building. Usually, this room was used by the much larger English department, with whom they shared the building. Today, however, it housed the Intro course she was teaching. The class was full, with a half-dozen on the waitlist; they would get in, she knew, because between ten and fifteen kids always dropped this class after the first meeting.They’d signed up to get an easy credit or for the cross-listed English credit or because the focus for these Intro classes was love poetry and they thought it might be kind of dirty.

In her crisp suit jacket and trousers, Anne was aware of the stark figure she cut. The majority of the students were in their first year, and she was in no mood to coddle them. The younger the student, the more inane questions they would ask, in her experience. They’d need to prove themselves, to Anne Lister, if they wanted her support or her patience. Until then, she was an unrelenting taskmaster. 

“Welcome.” Anne’s voice boomed, and a solemn hush fell over the formerly chattering class. “We will start once every piece of technology has been stowed. For those of you who do not know, I will not abide any laptops, tablets, cell phones, or the like in my class.” The rustling of bags filled the room as students hustled to comply. “My name is Anne Lister, and you will call me Dr. Lister. I’ve been a professor at this university for over a decade, and for this term, I’m serving as the Head of the Classics Department.” She started pacing between the rows of amphitheater-style seating. “This course is not for the faint-hearted.” She snatched a cell phone from a girl in the back row. “If you have any concerns about your ability to keep up, I encourage you to choose an easier path.” Dropping the phone on the podium at the front of the room, she leaned one arm against it, putting the opposite hand on her hip. “My wife tells me I should tell my classes more about myself, so there you have it. I have a wife, and I listen to her.” She chuckled. “Let’s get through this syllabus.”

By the time class was over two hours later, Anne was wiped. She flopped into her office chair, loosening her tie. One hour, she told herself, one hour of waiting an empty office, and then she could go home to her Adney. She figured if any students wanted to meet with her, they would’ve come by now. Leaning back in her chair, she checked her phone. Ann had texted her back during class.

“Can’t wait to tell you about it.” And then a picture.

Anne gulped. Ann was in the chaumière, but Anne barely noticed the background. Her eyes were glued to Ann’s chest, which was barely concealed by the low top of her dress. Her pale breasts were perky, slightly flushed, pressed together; Anne’s mouth watered. She forced her eyes upward, to Ann’s face; she was biting her lip shyly, her blonde hair falling gracefully to her shoulders. 

“God, you look good,” Anne typed back. 

“Oh yeah?” Ann’s response was immediate. 

“What are you doing right now?” Maybe Ann would be up for a little dirty texting. 

“What do you wish I was doing?”

Anne groaned, wondering if she could safely close her door, if any students would interrupt her. She flicked her eyes up, only to find Frances Pickford hovering. Anne closed her phone and sat up with a start. 

“Miss Pickford.”

“Dr. Lister,” the girl grinned. “I have a few questions.”

It was not lost on Anne, the way the girl spread her legs as she leaned forward to ask questions. She wore a green, crewneck sweater, tight jeans, and short boots; her auburn hair was cut in a pageboy, bringing out the sharp features of her face. She was a bit masculine for Anne’s taste, but Anne could tell the girl was interested in her as more than a professor. At first, Anne had been happy to be her mentor, and they had bonded over their overlapping reading tastes. Anne had thought she’d quashed any notion of flirtation last year, but the androgynous young woman in front of her was in rare from. Her lingering glances were shameless, and Anne realized, with a hint of arrogance, that the girl was besotted with her. Their conversation stayed professional, but only because Anne was able to steer Frances back to innocent topics. When the girl asked plainly about Anne’s foray into colorful socks, Anne realized it was time to go.

“Pic, I’ve got to tell you,” Anne looked at her watch, “I love our chats, but it’s time I got home.”

“Sure,” Frances stood with a smile. “It was good talking to you.”

“Right.”

Anne watched her go with a shake of her head. It felt good to be desired, though, didn’t it? Anne opened her phone to text Ann: “leaving now.” Perhaps they could recapture some of the energy of those texts. Anne was certainly buzzing, as she sped back to Shibden. Being back in the classroom, all the authority and attention and power - it was intoxicating. Plus, the relief of having gotten through it, not screwing up the first day, finding out all her fears were unfounded - Anne nearly leapt out of the Jeep while it was still moving. She practically ran to the chaumière. There she found her wife, reclined on her back on the sofa, some rag magazine in her hands above her head. 

“Pony!” Ann exclaimed as Anne lifted her into the air. She wrapped her legs around Anne’s waist and brought their lips together passionately. “How was your -” Ann broke away, “how was your day?”

“Excellent,” Anne growled, pressing her into the cool wall. “God, have I missed you.”

“I had a good day too,” she draped her arms around Anne’s neck and laughed breathlessly as Anne descended on her throat. “But I guess you don’t want to hear about it right now.”

“Of course I do,” Anne said against her skin; she pressed Ann more firmly into the wall and snaked a hand between them to slip under Ann’s skirt. “Tell me everything you did.”

“Well, Marian and I went out,” Ann panted. Anne bit her jugular and slipped into her panties. “I helped her with -” Ann stopped short as Anne’s face appeared in front of her own. 

“Can we not talk about my sister right now?”

“Right,” Ann breathed. “So then I came home, and - oh, Pony, fuck.” 

Anne had just slipped her middle finger between Ann’s wet folds. Anne grinned as Ann’s fingers dug into her shoulders, and they started moving in rhythm, underscored by Ann’s whimpers. Riding the high of a successful first day of school and expertly making love to her wife up against a wall? Anne Lister was riding high. She dragged her tongue along Ann’s neck, then whispered in her ear. 

“Keep talking.”

“What?” Ann whined. 

“Tell me about your day, darling,” Anne drawled, slowing the speed of her thrusts and lightening the pressure on Ann’s clit. 

“I - uh, fuck, Eliza Priestly came over.” Anne resumed her previous rhythm, even as her mind raced trying to figure out what Eliza and Ann would have to talk about. “She actually - oh, uh, she offered me a job.” 

“What?” Anne froze. 

“She,” Ann panted, “offered me a job.”

“Really?” Anne grinned. “That’s amazing.”

“Pony, darling,” Ann was breathless as she twisted her fingers in the hair at the back of Anne’s neck. “I can’t wait to tell you about it, but for now, can you -”

Anne crashed their lips together and squeezed a second finger in with the first. She moved quickly, but she took care not to be rough; the euphoria of her morning, the tight, warm press of Ann's body against hers, and this exciting new prospect for her wife combined to form a heady desire. Ann broke away with a gasp, and then her breathy cries ricocheted against the walls. 

“Yes, baby,” Anne growled in her ear, “God, there it is.” Anne massaged that perfect, spongy spot inside of her wife, and Ann gasped a choked moan into Anne’s collar. “Right there, baby. Come for me.”

As if on command, Ann cried out, trembling, hips bucking, clutching at Anne’s shoulders. Easing her down, Anne kissed her neck, her jaw, her cheek. Ann sagged in relief, dropping her head back against the wall. Slipping her hand out, Anne brought it to Ann’s mouth. Those pink lips parted, and Anne moaned as she felt Ann suck her own arousal from her fingers. Anne pulled her hand away and kissed Ann again. 

“God, I love you so much,” she grinned as she turned around and lowered them both onto the couch. Ann grinned as her knees and shins hit the cool fabric. “Now tell me about this job, Miss Walker.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Frances Pickford in real life was 12 years older than Anne, but, uh, I get to do whatever I want in my story. I remember her exclusively from the first Helena Whitbread, but I'm not sure how she figured into Anne's life later on. They were good friends, but Anne felt she was a bit too masculine. So, that's where we're headed with her. Anyone else have a butch professor you were in love with? And you'd just go to their office hours just to stare at her and hear her talk? No? Just me? Right. 
> 
> What IS the Washington girl's name? The internet was not especially helpful (I searched for 5 minutes)
> 
> Had a bit of a rough day, folks, so posting early and getting in bed. Thank you thank you thank you for your generous comments and feedback. Your feedback truly makes my day brighter.


	8. Working Girl

By this point, Ann was fairly comfortable being alone with the Listers. She’d gotten used to it over the summer, and even though her heart still skipped a beat when the Captain addressed her directly, she could now manage an entire meal without Anne by her side. This morning, in particular, she was feeling confident, though a little tired. Her morning with Anne had certainly helped, and she was still buoyed by endorphins as she slid into her chair next to Marian. 

“Seeing some of the fellows today in town,” Captain Lister said. “I’ll be takin’ the car”

“I was going to take the car,” Marian said sharply. “I’m expected at the food bank.”

“Take the truck,” Aunt Anne offered.

The Listers had three cars: Anne’s Jeep, a tan BMW sedan they used in town, and an old farm truck that was perpetually breaking down. Ann’s Range Rover sat in the garage next to the BMW, but it was growing dusty.

“Thomas is putting fresh tires on it today,” Marian sighed. “Damn.”

“Take my car,” Ann told her. “It could use the exercise, honestly.”

“Oh no,” Marian demurred. “I could never -”

“Seriously, it’s fine,” Ann smiled.

“Okay,” Marian nodded slowly. “Thank you.”

The easy chatter of their family made the meal pass quickly, and before Ann knew it, they were scraping back their chairs and going their separate ways. She followed Marian to the front door and gave her the spare key. 

“Do you want to go with me?” Marian asked.

“Where are you going again?” 

“To this food bank - soup kitchen. I volunteer there every other week. Families come through for groceries, and then we serve a lunch meal to mothers and children. Some fathers too, I guess,” Marian considered, “but I can’t remember any.”

"Oh, I don’t -”

“Come on,” Marian teased. “Put on some jeans and a shirt you don’t mind getting dirty. It’ll be fun!”

Ann hesitated, studying Marian’s face. She looked so excited and sincere that Ann couldn’t deny her. Besides, what else was she going to do while Anne was gone? Anne wasn’t the only one who could go out and do something worthwhile. She nodded and bounded up the steps, finding a pair of jeans and an old t-shirt. This was all very exciting. Usually she did her charity through money managers and banks and checkbooks. Today she would do real-life charity. Make a real difference. Wouldn’t Anne be proud?

“Let’s go,” she grinned as she trotted back down the stairs. 

Marian turned out to be an excellent driver, and Ann didn’t even mind the long drive to wherever-the-hell-they-were-going. She sent Anne an encouraging text just before her first class would start, then settled into a friendly conversation with Marian. Being out with Marian like this made Ann feel young and vibrant and important, like someone with a purpose to her life, with goals and ideas and things to do. Anne made her feel this way too, but it was different with Marian. Ann often felt like she was watching Anne do things, like the most pleased spectator watching her favorite athlete in her favorite sport. But with Marian, they were amateur doubles partners, having fun and laughing and passing the time. The similarities between the sisters stuck out to her - their sense of humor, their high energy levels (though Anne’s surpassed Marian’s, of course), and their affection for one Ann Walker. That’s why they got along so well, even if Anne would adamantly deny it; their similarities complemented Ann’s personality perfectly. Well, not perfectly. Anne more so than Marian. Point being: Ann was deliriously happy by the time they reached the food bank.

“We’ll start you in the back,” a rotund woman in a hairnet told Ann as they arrived. “Unpacking donations, alright? It’s all organized by section. Marian, come with me.”

Ann had a sinking feeling as Marian walked away from her, but she tried to shake it off. This was fine, she thought, she could handle this. There were a half-dozen boxes of cans and boxes and bags; Ann mimicked the other volunteers - two girls and a boy, all looking like uni students - who were stowing everything on the steel shelves that had been arranged into long aisles in the humid warehouse. And, at first, it was fine. Ann enjoyed it. Her colleagues were friendly, even if they made her feel a little old; how long had it been since she was in her early 20s? Being with Anne made her feel young, but she couldn’t deny her 30-year-old joints as she crouched and carried. Just when Ann thought she was going to break her back in there, Marian appeared.

“Want to help in the front?” 

“Yes,” Ann sighed, “thank you.”

Marian gave her a curious glance as they passed through the kitchen. They came to the front, what Ann assumed was the serving area; Marian and Ann were on the backside of a cafeteria-style line. There was a large tray of sandwiches wrapped in parchment paper on the far right side; next to that were two deep pots of soup. On the far left side was a tray of apples and oranges, then oatmeal cookies next to that. A queue had formed on the right-hand side: haggard-looking women and antsy children and crying babies. Ann turned to Marian in question.

“Here,” Marian handed Ann a hairnet and some loose latex gloves. “Each tray gets one sandwich, then pass it to me, okay? It helps if you smile, but you don’t have to.”

Ann nodded and joined the assembly line. First, she’d take a tray from the large stack on her right, place a parchment paper bundle in the center, then pass it to Marian on her left. A few people didn’t want soup or fruit, but no one turned down Ann’s sandwiches. She did her best to smile at each person and ask them politely how their day was; she felt silly, after a while, so she stuck to just smiling. Marian was better at chatting than she was, and Ann started to feel fatigued. The queue was unending. Every child seemed sadder than the last, every woman skinnier, every baby cuter and more tragic. The sheer weight of their difficult situations weighed on her. Here were dozens of families unable to eat, and Ann had squandered her own breakfast because the eggs were runny. She started to feel clammy, sweat running down her back. It was awful; it was so awful. The need of these people overwhelmed her. Her stomach churned with guilt; here were entire families with nothing, and she had more money than she could spend. The children were so polite, the mothers so grateful, and Ann could have changed their lives with the change in her purse. Her hands were shaking as she took another tray; Marian touched her arm. 

“Ann,” she said softly, “go sit down.”

“I’m okay.” Ann’s voice shook.

“Go sit down.” Marian’s eyes were kind as she looked pointedly at the door to the kitchen. “I’ll be right behind you.”

Ann staggered into the kitchen, which was blessedly empty. She sunk into a cold metal chair in the corner, took her head in her hands, and wept. Her eyes streamed pity and guilt and fear; her chest heaved with the injustice of the world, her own compliance in it, the impossibility of helping all those people. She jolted when a hand landed on her shoulder; Marian hovered above her.

“What happened?” Marian asked gently. 

“I - I want -” Ann couldn’t get her breath. Marian rubbed her back. “I want to give - give away all my money.”

“Honey.” Marian crouched next to her. 

“I - I just - I shouldn’t - I want -”

“Breathe.”

Ann inhaled shakily, then exhaled. She repeated this several times, until she could breathe evenly. Marian sat on the ground at her feet. 

“Is it always like this?” 

“I only come every other week,” Marian said, “but...well, I’ve never seen it empty.”

“I want to give this place a million pounds,” Ann said.

“Ann,” Marian laughed.

“I’m serious. I’ll talk to my lawyer and - well, I mean it.”

“Really?” 

“Absolutely.” Ann nodded resolutely. 

“Ann Walker,” Marian scrambled to her feet. “You are something else.”

“I just - I can’t stand the idea that there are so many people who have so little,” Ann stood, “and I have so much, and -”

“It’s lovely,” Marian said with a smile. “Let’s go home, hmm?”

The drive home was mostly silent, and the initial rush of promising the money wore off. Ann felt useless, like nothing more than a blonde bank account. Anne had responded to her text, asking how her day was, and Ann was ashamed. She’d had a breakdown in the back of a soup kitchen, and for what? Because she was _too_ rich? Anne was out there actually working, educating the future of England no less, and Ann was stuck at home. Not good for much of anything. She felt pretty low by the time they got home. Marian disappeared upstairs, and Ann flopped onto the living room couch, too depressed even to turn on the TV.

“Ann, darling,” Aunt Anne’s bright voice broke her from her reverie, “how was your morning?”

“Not great,” Ann whined, shifting over so Aunt could sit next to her. “I feel so - so helpless with all those people. I’m so spoiled. And then I got upset, and - I just feel like I don’t have a purpose.”

“You have a purpose,” Aunt Anne soothed; Ann leaned her head against her shoulder. “You have Anne, and you have all of us, and your art, and your family, and your foundation.”

“I know, but - I just feel like I sit around all day. I paint silly pictures and watch television and play bloody backgammon, and somebody funnels my money into charities. I don’t actually _do_ anything.”

“That’s not true -”

Aunt Anne’s speech was cut short, however, by the doorbell ringing. They looked at each other in question. It was just about one o’clock, and they weren’t expecting anyone. Ann rushed to the door to find a smartly dressed older woman in sensible flats, light trousers, and a grey sweater: Eliza Priestley. 

“Ann,” she smiled, “I was in the neighborhood, and I couldn’t resist. Could I come in?”

Ann realized she was gaping and shook herself out of it, stepping aside.

“Of course, please.” She led Eliza to the living room. “Aunt, Eliza Priestley is here. It’s just us, Eliza. Marian is upstairs, but everyone else is out.”

“That’s fine,” Eliza said brightly as she sat down. “I was hoping to speak to you.”

“Me?” Ann couldn’t hide her surprise. 

“Yes, I was wondering if you could help out my little school.”

“Oh, I, uh, I think the donation is coming, if it hasn't already.” 

“No, no, we need a new art teacher, and with your little sketches…” Eliza gestured in the air with a shrug.

“Eliza, that’s - I can’t.” Ann picked at her nails. 

“Why not?”

“You should do it,” Aunt Anne urged, “I bet you’re great with the little ones.”

“I can’t, because,” Ann hesitated, “because I didn’t finish uni. I don’t have a degree.”

“Oh,” Eliza laughed, “I knew that. I should’ve said, I want you to be a teaching assistant. Our primary school could use an assistant for the art teacher. She’s lovely, and I think you’d do a great job.”

“I don’t know,” Ann said slowly. She did enjoy being around children, and she would love to have something worthwhile to do. But wasn’t teaching supposed to be awfully hard? She didn’t know the first thing about teaching. She barely knew anything about art; she’d learned almost everything intuitively. “I’m not sure I can commit to every day.”

“Easily done,” Eliza held up a hand. “You can come in half-days, whenever you like. I know Mrs. Milton would appreciate any help at all.”

“Give it a shot,” Aunt Anne said quietly, nudging Ann’s shoulder. “Perhaps Mrs. Priestly would take you to the school, just to check it out.”

“Absolutely!” Eliza was already standing. “Let’s go.”

“What?” Ann’s head was spinning. 

Aunt Anne gave her an encouraging nod and smile, and then Ann found herself trailing after Eliza, staring at the back of her grey sweater. And then she was in the back of Eliza’s car, being driven by her silent, dark-haired chauffeur. Eliza’s car was nice, all soft leather and quiet jazz, but Ann could barely appreciate it. She certainly couldn’t process the words coming out of Eliza’s mouth as she explained the school, the students, the Priestleys’ involvement in it. She couldn’t deny the twinge of excitement buried under her anxiety; this could be exactly what she was looking for. A job. A purpose. She just hoped she didn’t screw it up.

“Here we are,” Eliza climbed out. 

Ann followed helplessly; Eliza led her through a side door to a spacious art room. The floor was cool concrete, but there were enormous windows on every wall. There were tall tables with stools, and shorts ones with pillows. Ann grinned enormously, already imaging the tiny bodies filling this space with their laughter and creativity. A short, slightly round woman with wildly curly red hair appeared; she wore a bright blue dress and a stained apron, her feet covered by no-nonsense clogs. Ann adored her instantly. 

“Mrs. Priestly,” the woman’s Irish accent warmed Ann’s heart, “what can I do for you?”

“Mrs. Milton,” Eliza shook the woman’s hand genially, “this is Ann Walker. The one I mentioned might work as your assistant.”

“So it is,” Mrs. Milton turned her wide grin to Ann, “pleasure to meet you. Please call me Celia. Have you been a teacher long?”

“No, I -” Ann was breathless, nervous, “I’ve never taught anything.”

“That’s alright, love, do you like art?” Celia’s kind eyes set Ann at ease.

“Of course.”

“Excellent,” Celia said as the thunder of small feet echoed down the hallway outside. “Hope you’re ready.”

Ann watched in awe as Celia transformed twenty squirming, chattering eight-year-olds into quiet, engaged students. They gathered around one of the low tables, and Celia distributed paints and brushes and papers. Ann hovered by the wall with Eliza; though she had no interest in giving birth, she did love children. Eliza nudged her gently, and Ann drifted forward, kneeling between a young boy and girl.

“What are you working on?”

“A tree,” the boy said matter-of-factly.

“And you?” Ann turned to the girl.

“My family.” Her voice was so soft Ann almost didn't hear her.

Ann lost herself to the careful strokes of these tiny hands, their sweet voices, the way their giant eyes looked up at them. Ann felt so happy that she worried she might cry. She made her way around the table, chatting with each child, bringing them supplies, praising their work. Before she even realized, the bell rang and Celia was ushering them out the door. 

“When can you start?” Celia laughed, wiping her hands on her apron.

“Uh, any time,” Ann said breathlessly. “Tomorrow?”

“I’ll see you then,” Celia shook her paint-covered hand. 

“Thank you,” Ann grinned as she followed Eliza back out the side door and into the brilliant day. 

For the entire short ride back to Shibden, Ann could barely contain her excitement. She hadn’t felt so much joy in years, at least, not without Anne Lister in the room. She barely heard Eliza as she tumbled out of the car and ran up the stairs to wash the paint from her arms and hands and face. The kids were so sweet and fascinating and ridiculous. They didn’t have any preconceived ideas or pretentious opinions; they just loved art. Just like Ann. She was positively buzzing by the time she stepped out of the shower and dried her hair. She couldn't wait for Anne to get home. 

She rushed to the chaumière to look through her art supplies. She wanted to bring a few things for little Alicia, who’d been interested in watercolors, and she certainly had plenty of brushes to share. It was just before three o’clock, when she reached the hut, and she realized she’d never responded to Anne’s text. She angled her phone above her head and arched her back to thrust her chest upward; maybe Anne would send her something naughty. 

She sent the picture and wrote, “can’t wait to tell you about it.” 

Ann started organizing her supplies, but a few minutes later her phone buzzed again.

“God, you look good,” Anne responded.

“Oh yeah?” Ann bit her lip. Maybe they really would get into something naughty.

“What are you doing right now?” 

“What do you wish I was doing?”

Ann settled on the couch, waiting for Anne to send her something filthy. After ten minutes, Anne still hadn’t responded; Ann was disappointed, but she figured Anne was at work, after all. She finished with her supplies, then laid on the couch and flicked through a magazine. She was just getting bored enough to go back to the house when the door swung open. Anne was as gorgeous as ever, her tie askew, her white shirtsleeves rolled up, her face practically glowing with excitement. She pounced on Ann and lifted her in the air. 

“Pony!” Ann exclaimed as she wrapped her legs around Anne’s waist and brought their lips together passionately. “How was your -” Ann broke away, “how was your day?”

“Excellent,” Anne growled, pressing her into the cool wall. “God, have I missed you.”

“I had a good day too,” she wrapped her arms around Anne’s neck and laughed breathlessly as Anne’s lips pressed into her neck. “But I guess you don’t want to hear about it right now.”

“Of course I do,” Anne’s warm hand snaked under the skirt of her dress. “Tell me everything you did.”

“Well, Marian and I went to a food bank. I helped her with -” Ann could barely focus, between Anne’s hand in her underwear and the uncomfortable memories of her failure this morning.

“Can we not talk about my sister right now?”

“Right,” Ann breathed, grateful for the change in subject. “So then I came home, and - oh, Pony, fuck.” 

Anne had just slipped between Ann’s wet folds. Ann whimpered as Anne started moving against her in earnest; God, this was exactly what she needed. Between the residual high of her afternoon at the school and Anne’s strong body pressed against her? Ann was in heaven.

“Keep talking,” Anne whispered in her ear. 

“What?” Ann whined. 

“Tell me about your day, darling,” Anne pulled back ever so slightly. Ann exhaled; of course, Anne would make her work for it. 

“I - uh, fuck, Eliza Priestly came over.” Anne started up again; Ann could barely form the words as her release built between her legs. “She actually - oh, uh, she offered me a job.” 

“What?” Anne froze. 

“She,” Ann panted, worried Anne would disapprove, “offered me a job.”

“Really?” Anne grinned. “That’s amazing.”

“Pony, darling,” Ann was breathless as she twisted her fingers in the hair at the back of Anne’s neck. “I can’t wait to tell you about it, but for now, can you -”

Anne crashed their lips together and stretched Ann with a second finger. It was perfect, hot and forceful, but not rough; Ann gripped those broad shoulders and broke away with a gasp. She couldn’t repress her cries. 

“Yes, baby,” Anne growled in her ear, “God, there it is.” Anne massaged that perfect, electric spot, and Ann shuddered as her release washed over her. “Right there, baby. Come for me.”

As if on command, Ann cried out, trembling, hips bucking, and clutching at Anne’s shoulders. Easing her down, Anne kissed her neck, her jaw, her cheek. Ann sagged in relief, dropping her head back against the wall. She felt the loss of Anne’s fingers between her legs, then the wet press of them against her lips. Parting her lips, she took Anne’s strong, dexterous fingers between them, sucking and licking gently, moaning at the taste of her own arousal. 

“God, I love you so much,” Anne grinned as she turned around and lowered them both onto the couch. “Now tell me about this job, Miss Walker.”

“Well,” Ann said slowly, sitting back on Anne’s knees and smoothing her collar, “she came over here to tell me they need an assistant for the art teacher at the primary school.”

“Okay.” Anne ran her hands up and down Ann’s thighs.

“I wasn’t really sure, but I went and checked it out.”

“Excellent,” Anne growled and kissed her quickly.

“And then,” Ann drawled, “I really liked it.”

“Did you?” Anne’s face was full of such genuine pride that if Ann hadn’t already been in love with her, she would've fallen in that moment. 

“I loved it, actually.” Ann couldn’t control her smile. “And I’m going back tomorrow.”

“Adney!” Anne squeezed her legs. “I am so proud of you!”

“Are you?”

“Of course. I am so incredibly pleased for you.”

“Thank you,” Ann said softly, leaning forward to press her lips to Anne’s neck. “You had a good day too?” 

“Oh yes,” Anne sighed as Ann loosened her collar a little more, kissing her way across Anne’s throat. “I took your advice.”

“Did you spill your coffee?” Ann smiled as she sank to her knees between Anne’s legs. 

“Yes,” Anne sighed and rolled her eyes. “What a mess.”

“You look great,” Ann purred, flicking open Anne’s trousers. “Tell me more about how you took my advice.”

“I told my Virgil class that I own Shibden.”

“You think they don’t know that?” Ann teased, kissing Anne’s belly and tugging down her boxers and trousers. 

“I said I like travelling,” Anne shifted her hips forward to the edge of the couch.

“Very good,” Ann ran her tongue along Anne’s hip bones.

“I said that my wife thinks I should wear more color.”

“Did you?” Ann looked up at her with a grin.

“Do you mind? I wondered if I should’ve said fiancée, but that’s so ambiguous.”

“Pony,” Ann laughed, “do you really think that anyone would think your fiancée is a man?”

“It’s possible.” Anne furrowed her brow.

“It’s not.” Ann kissed the inside of her knee. “But I don’t mind.” She pressed her lips to the inside of the opposite knee. “Not at all.”

“Good,” Anne sighed. Ann traveled further up, lapping gently between Anne’s legs. “I - uh, I told my Intro class that I have a wife.” Ann hummed her appreciation against Anne’s clit and wrapped her hands around her hips. “And that I listen to her.” 

Ann took her clit between her lips, her heart soaring at Anne’s public claiming of her. And her admission that she heeds her words. That was almost as intoxicating as the scent of Anne’s arousal filling her nose. 

“I had all of these students trying to meet with me,” Anne groaned as Ann’s tongue worked over the hard nub of her desire, “and all I could think about - oh fuck.” Ann’s teeth grazed her clit. “I could only think about you.” Ann worked her tongue in slow, lazy circles. “I couldn’t wait to get home to you.”

When Ann started to flick her tongue faster, Anne’s hands shot into her hair, holding her close. She was letting out these deliciously low moans and groans as Ann worked her into a frenzy. If Ann had felt joy back in that art room with those kids, now she felt euphoria. There was nothing on earth she enjoyed more than the taste and feeling and sound of her wife coming undone at her touch. 

“Adney,” Anne gasped as she slumped forward, her hips shaking and her thighs tensing. Ann lapped at her core gently, drawing the residual aftershocks from her, until Anne slumped backward with a sigh. “Good Lord.”

Ann straightened and crawled back into Anne’s lap, straddling her strong thighs. Anne’s neck was craned backward, her eyes closed, but her hands found Ann’s waist as if on instinct alone. Ann peppered kisses along her throat as she caught her breath. 

“Do you like any of your students?” Ann asked.

“A few.” Anne opened her eyes. “That damned Frances Pickford is back.”

“Who’s she?”

“Oh Lord,” Anne groaned, “she’s practically in love with me.”

“What?” Ann grabbed Anne’s collar sharply. 

“Oh, its nothing,” Anne demurred. “A passing fancy. A crush.”

“It had better be,” Ann said, trying to sound tough.

“Oh it is,” Anne laughed. “Rest assured, Mrs. Lister, you have no competition.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> And thank you for your kind words on this last chapter. I've had a much better day today, so we've got this long update right here. And shoutout to everyone with the helpful Washington daughter information! If you read the chapter right away, you might have noticed I put SAM Sowden in Anne's class, instead of Thomas. I've changed it now. There are four Ann(e)s and now there are TWO Thomases? This is impossible. 
> 
> Getting up early the next three days (ugh) so here's a little bedtime story for ya. Hope you enjoy!


	9. It’s not actually our money, is it, Pony?

“You did what?” Anne’s voice was sharp. 

They were cuddled on the couch after supper, Ann had her legs stretching into Anne’s lap; Anne rubbed her feet absentmindedly. Marian had followed Aunt Anne and Captain Lister upstairs a few minutes ago.

“I told Marian I would give the food bank a million pounds.” Ann shrugged.

Anne’s stomach dropped; she felt helpless. How could Ann throw around their money so flippantly? Without even asking Anne’s opinion? She hadn’t even mentioned it until now, and Anne suspected she’d held off because she knew Anne would disapprove. 

“That’s a lot of money,” Anne said stiffly.

“Really, Pony, it’s not.”

Ann stood and stretched, padding up the stairs without another word. What? Anne raced up the stairs after her and into their bathroom. Ann was washing her face, as nonchalantly as if she had not just promised to give away one million fucking pounds. Anger roiled in Anne’s gut. 

“What the fuck, Ann?”

“What?” Ann asked genuinely, as if she had forgotten her words downstairs. 

“How could you -” Anne was getting properly angry now, “you’re going to have to tell Marian you can’t do it.”

“Can’t do what?” Ann was stepping out of her dress, but Anne wouldn’t allow her soft, pale body to distract her. Despite the maddeningly purple panties and bra she had on.

“Can’t give that place any money.”

“Why can’t I?” Ann’s voice was level as she slipped off her bra and pulled a sleeping shirt over her head.

“Because -” Anne scoffed, baffled by her wife’s cool manner. “Because it’s a fucking lot of money, Ann! Do you know what we could do with Shibden for a million pounds?” Ann turned away, busying herself brushing her teeth. Anne couldn’t believe it; fury twisted around her heart. She hovered behind Ann at the bathroom sink, trying to catch her eye in the mirror. “We could take so many trips for a million pounds! Christ, Ann, how could you spend our money like that?” 

Ann spit out her toothpaste and finally turned to face her. She was so serene that Anne felt even crazier. Anger and frustration mixed in Anne’s chest, buoyed by incredulity; she clenched her fists.

“Are you upset with me?” Ann’s eyebrows knit together.

“Yes! You’ve promised a bloody lot of our money, for what? Because Marian told you to?”

“It’s not actually our money, is it, Pony?” She ran a hand along Anne’s chest, smoothing her shirt. She sauntered past her and spoke over her shoulder. “It’s mine.”

“We’re married.” Anne followed her into the bedroom. “You should have asked me.”

“We’re not married.” Ann was smoothing lotion over her arms. “And even if we were, I wouldn’t have to ask you how to spend my money.”

“It’s _our_ money!”

“Come to bed,” Ann said patiently. “Brush your teeth and everything else. Then come to bed. And we’ll talk about it.”

“Ann!” Anne knew her voice was too loud, but she couldn’t control it.

“I’m not talking to you,” Ann slid her pale legs under the sheets, “until you’re in your pajamas and you’re in this bed.”

Anne huffed, but she followed direction. Resentment started to build as she tore off her clothes and brushed her teeth. Ann was always telling her what to do, wasn’t she? And Anne just followed along like a grateful puppy. Ridiculous. She was a grown woman. This was _her_ house. Ann was giving away their money without a moment’s hesitation. Pouting, Anne sat on the bed next to Ann, as close to the edge as possible.

“So this morning,” Ann said softly, reaching out for Anne’s hand. Anne stayed limp as those pale fingers interlaced with her own, “Marian took me to that food bank. And I started out really strong. I was unloading cans and stuff; it was all dented cans, you know? Things the market can’t sell.” Ann’s voice was slow and measured. Anne grunted her acknowledgement. “Which made me kind of sad. Nobody got anything new or nice. Just when I started to get tired, Marian came and said I could help in the front. So I did, and - have you ever been?”

“Where?”

“To the soup kitchen.”

“No.” Marian had asked, but Anne always had an excuse. 

“It was really, um, eye-opening. There were just - God, there were so many people. And we had so little to give them, you know? One sad little sandwich. Soup. A wrinkly apple. And I was so - Anne, I was ashamed.” 

Anne turned to her, startled by the sudden shift in her tone. Ann’s blue eyes were watery, her bottom lip trembling, her fingers gently squeezing Anne’s hand. What could she do? She softened immediately, wrapping her arm around Ann’s narrow shoulders and pulling her close.

“I had a bit of a breakdown,” Ann said into her chest. “Just crying, shaking, the whole bit. And I - do you know I didn’t even finish my breakfast this morning? The eggs weren’t quite right, and I just didn’t want them. And then these people -” Ann broke off, shaking her head. Anne rubbed her back. “I felt so useless, Pony. I don’t even choose the charities my foundation supports. I could - I just realized I could do so much more. I have to do more. I - Pony, I need to do more.”

Anne balanced her chin on Ann’s head, still pressed into her chest, and breathed deeply. Ann was toying with her fingers, their hands still joined in Anne’s lap. It made sense, Anne realized, for Ann to have such a strong reaction. She had such a sheltered childhood - hell, a sheltered life. Her heart ached at the realization that Ann had been so upset and she hadn't even realized; Ann and Marian had been cagey at dinner, but Anne had not understood why. It made sense now. Still, it was an awful lot of money.

“I understand,” she soothed. “I think volunteering is a great place to start.”

“Anne!” Ann’s head shot up, her face colored pink with irritation. “Yes, I can volunteer, and I will do, but I can also unload a bit of money.”

“Sure,” Anne tried to placate her. “Maybe a few thousand pounds.”

“You’re not hearing me,” Ann pulled away. “I'm giving them that money because I want to and I promised to and it’s the right thing to do.”

“You promised Marian. She’ll understand -”

“ _You_ don’t understand. Why are you so against this?”

“It’s a lot of money,” Anne said gently, for what felt like the fiftieth time. “We can’t afford that.”

“Maybe you can’t,” Ann said coldly. “But I certainly can.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes.”

Anne was dumbstruck. She knew Ann was wealthy, lavishly wealthy, but she certainly didn’t think - no, she never dreamed Ann could give away a million pounds like it was nothing. 

“Look,” Ann’s voice was flat, totally unaffectionate, businesslike, “I haven’t really gone through my finances with you, because - well, because it seems a bit crass. I don’t know. I don’t have millions just sitting in my checking account, but - there’s a trust and a foundation and all the rest and - it’s an obscene amount of money. It’s all tied up with my father’s will and my brother’s, too, so I can’t draw on it for just anything. But I can use it for this. And I want to. I’m going to.”

Ann’s eyes, though still a bit watery around the rims, were determined. She sat diagonally from Anne, her legs tangled in the sheets, her slim arms holding her up as she leaned forward; she was as fierce and resolute as Anne had ever seen her. The sure set of her shoulders, the firm press of her lips, the sincerity in her eyes - it was no use, was it? The angry fire in Anne’s chest fizzled out to nothing. Ann was serious, really serious, and Anne sighed. 

“Okay.” Anne reached forward and took Ann’s hand. “I understand.” 

“Do you?”

“I do.” 

She held Ann’s small hand in both of hers, stroking her thumbs across the back of it. 

“I often feel,” Ann said softly, “like my life is not as important or meaningful or - or - or something. Not like yours or my sister’s or Marian’s.”

“What?”

“You have your work and Shibden, and - well, it feels bloody important. And Elizabeth has her children, and that’s right important too. And Marian has her charities and her volunteering and all the rest. And then I - I don’t do anything.”

“That’s not true,” Anne bent her neck to catch Ann’s eye. “You do a lot of things.”

“But it doesn’t matter to anyone. It doesn’t affect anybody. I don’t matter -”

“Stop,” Anne interrupted. “That’s patently untrue.” She took Ann’s chin in her hand, the other still holding Ann’s hand. “You matter to a great many people. You matter to me more than I can possibly say. And - darling, everyone who knows you adores you. Surely you know that. Anyone who is lucky enough to meet you is better off for it.”

Anne watched her wife breathe slowly, their eyes locked together. Her heart was breaking to think that Ann thought so little of herself. Those blue eyes grew stronger, slowly; Anne felt like she was watching a storm pass over the sea. Ann tilted her chin; Anne smiled as she brought their lips together once, then twice. She pulled away, tugging at Ann’s hand; they fell backward, Anne leaning against the headboard and Ann in her lap. 

“Thank you, Pony.” Ann sat back, her center warm on Anne’s thighs. “I would be lost without you.”

“I wonder why you have such a poor opinion of yourself,” Anne said with a shake of her head. “This is all you, my love. Look what you did in a single day. You made a difference in your community. You got a job. You survived the impossibly boring stories of the world’s oldest soldier.” Ann laughed at the reference to the Captain’s meandering tales at dinner. “And you taught this stupid old fool something.”

“Did I?” Ann's eyes lit up.

“Of course,” Anne slipped her hands under Ann’s shirt, tracing over her stomach. “I jumped to conclusions and assumed and made an ass of myself, but what you’re saying makes perfect sense. And I’m sorry,” Anne said sincerely. “I had no right to react like that. That was way out of line. _I_ was way out of line.”

“Thank you,” Ann whispered, before catching her lips. “Maybe you should make it up to me.”

“Should I?” Anne purred.

“Yes,” Ann pouted. “You were very rude to me.”

“Was I?” Anne dropped the act. “I’m sorry, Adney, I-”

“Pony.” She draped her arms around Anne’s neck. “I’m kidding.”

“Right, right,” Anne laughed. “And what do I have to do to make it right, Miss Walker?”

“Miss Walker? What happened to Mrs. Lister?”

“Well, as you reminded me,” Anne squeezed her hips playfully, “we’re not married yet.”

“That’s right.” Ann clicked her tongue. “Maybe you could convince me.”

“Convince you of what?”

“To marry you.”

Ann’s eyes danced in the dim light of their bedroom. Anne bit her lip as a plan formulated in her mind. If Ann wanted to be convinced, well, who was Anne to refuse?

“I suppose, Miss Walker,” Anne purred as her hands trailed over Ann’s ribs to cover her breasts, “I would try to tell you what a stable provider I would be.” She twisted Ann’s nipples between her fingers. “How many acres Shibden has.” She pressed her lips to Ann’s jugular. “How funny I am.” Ann let out a breathless chuckle as she dragged her tongue up her pale throat. “And intelligent.” She kissed the underside of Ann’s jaw. “But mostly,” her hands retreated to the hem of Ann’s shirt, pulling it swiftly over her head, “I’d show you what an excellent lover I am.”

With that, she flipped Ann onto her back, drawing bright giggles from her. Anne pulled off those purple panties and settled between her legs, their bellies pressing together as she took one perfect breast in her mouth and covered the other with her hand; massaging and rolling and humming, she lost herself to the rise and fall of Ann’s chest and the soft tug of fingers in her hair. Eventually, she switched places, making sure she gave equal attention; if nothing else, at least Anne Lister was always fair. Trailing down further, she pressed her lips to every inch of Ann’s increasingly pink torso. 

“Because as good as I am at starting fights,” Anne said as she spread Ann’s legs, “I’m much better at making up.”

Ann laughed, and Anne couldn’t resist stretching up to steal the breath from her lungs. The kiss was deep, underscored by passion and need and forgiveness. Anne pulled away with a smile, then laid between Ann’s legs again, slipping her knees over her shoulders. As always, the first taste of Ann made her crazy. Anne could feel her own desire building as she worked Ann’s core gently. Every swipe across her folds was an apology, every flick of her clit a plea for forgiveness, every gentle tease of her entrance a promise to do better. 

“Pony,” Ann moaned as Anne’s lips closed around her clit.

Anne looked up, briefly, and the sight before her nearly killed her. The soft, round curve of Ann’s belly led to her perfect breasts, which she was now rolling and kneading in her own hands. Ann’s eyes were half-closed, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. Anne was frozen, her heart racing at the sight before her. 

“Pony?” Ann’s eyes slid open a fraction. “Why'd you stop?”

“Holy -” Anne scrambled forward, crashing her lips into Ann’s. They kissed feverishly, Ann’s hands tangling in her hair and pulling her close. Anne broke away and stared at the woman below her in awe. “I love you so much,” she said with a pant, “you have to marry me.”

Ann laughed and rolled her eyes. Anne kissed her again, harder, deeper. She needed more, all of it, everything Ann had to offer. Pulling away again, Anne sat on her heels, grinding against Ann’s thigh as she pulled off her shirt. 

“Marry me, Ann Walker. I need you.”

Bare-chested and out of breath, Anne surrendered entirely to the beautiful blonde in her bed. As close and naked and tangled-up as they had been in the last few months, Anne was still self-conscious, at times, about her chest; Ann knew this. Anne bit her lip; of course, this was all a bit of a game, and Ann would marry her and all the rest. But it felt important, in this moment, to present herself as vulnerably and openly as possible. This was her apology. The words and the foreplay had been that too, but the gesture was important. She hoped Ann would understand.

“Of course, I’ll marry you, you fool,” Ann said with a playful swat to Anne’s stomach. “Now kiss me.” Anne leaned forward, catching Ann’s lips again; their kiss was an apology and an acceptance and a promise. Ann understood. She always did. She tugged at Anne’s sweatpants. “Take those off, Pony, and make love to me.” 

When could Anne ever deny her?

Pulling off her sweats and boxers in one movement, Anne descended on her wife again, bringing their lips together in a slow, sensual kiss. She pressed Ann’s left leg back, intertwining their bodies until their cores met. Falling to her forearms, she caught Ann’s lips, starting a gentle grind of her hips. Ann’s arms wrapped around her back, their bodies moving in perfect harmony. It was heaven, the even pressure and slow slide of their sexes, the way they became one being, writhing together in the low light of their bedroom. 

“Please,” Ann whispered in her ear, pulling Anne closer. 

Anne knew what Ann needed, and, like a good wife, she snaked her hand between their bodies to find her aching clit. It was a contortionist's trick, this position, but it was worth it. Moving her fingers quickly, she could tell Ann was already on the verge. It hardly took anything before Ann was -

“Pony,” she whimpered as she shuddered, her back arching and her thighs tensing. 

Anne kissed her neck, her cheek, her clavicle, patiently waiting for Ann’s recovery. There was a time she would’ve rolled to the side, taken care of herself, and pulled her clothes back on before her partner opened her eyes. But not with Ann. Not now. Slowly, Ann’s eyes opened and her hand found the hard bundle of Anne’s need. She tried not to be embarrassed by how quickly she felt that familiar warmth spreading into her gut and thighs. 

“Adney,” she sighed as the gentle wave of her release washed over her. 

It was good, of course, it was good. A few months ago, Anne would’ve flipped Ann onto her stomach, reached for the strap, screwed her into the wee hours. But tonight? Not so much. This was everything they needed. The perfect, intimate joining of their bodies and souls. Not to mention, they both had work in the morning. Anne let go of her competitive instinct as she fell onto her back next to the woman she loved.

“I love you,” she whispered, “and I’m sorry. I had no right to -”

Ann silenced her with a gentle kiss, then reached for her nightshirt. 

“I love you, Anne Lister, even when you’re being a fool.”

Anne chuckled and pulled on her own pajamas. They settled under the covers, Anne leaning against the headboard with Ann’s head on her stomach. Anne settled her readers on her nose and took out the murder mystery they’d been making their way through. Ann’s arm wrapped around her hips, her leg falling atop Anne’s. Anne started to read, relishing this nightly ritual and the feeling of Ann all around her. It was perfect, she decided. Not everything was earth-shattering, back-breaking, record-setting. It was nice to make some easy love, snuggle up, and go to sleep. Anne no longer based her self-worth on her sexual prowess. And anyway, she’d given it to Ann pretty good out in the chaumière, hadn’t she?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> I don't love to have these ladies argue, but I think this one was important. First of all, in my world, Ann Walker is worth hundreds of millions. I read Female Fortune, and my understanding was she had between 2 and 3 thousand a year at her disposal, not to mention other funds that were tied up in the estates and her brother's will. But, to be honest, it was all a little confusing. Basically, that would mean modern-day Ann gets a yearly allowance of about 225,000. In my imagination, then there's also a huge wing of foundations and trusts and all those things that rich people have. If the Walkers were "new money" in the 1830s, I can only imagine their wealth grew exponentially since then.  
> Plus, it was important to me that Ann's promising the money to Marian wasn't a flight of fancy. She's starting to take some real ownership over her life, and that includes the money that is donated in her name. Since physically volunteering is a little taxing for her, giving money is her best option for making a difference in the lives of those people who affected her so much.  
> AND I think it's important that Anne Lister get a little kick in the rear about 1. her own attitudes toward money/charity and 2. her blatant assumption that Ann belongs to her. Ann has her own world, and she does join Anne's world, but that doesn't take away her autonomy.
> 
> WOOF. That's a lot. I tried to trace the line of their argument and the way Anne, sort of, gets over her anger and comes to understand what Ann is saying, but I struggle to toe the line between "show, don't tell" and just being like "SO THEN ANNE ISN'T MAD ANYMORE." I hope it makes sense. I don't know. 
> 
> Thank you, as always, for reading. I look forward to hearing what you thought!


	10. I don’t tolerate tardiness, Miss Walker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This started as "Anne gets jealous," but ended with "hopelessly smutty office shenanigans." Sorry.  
> It's also a bit long. Sorry again.

The term was finally hitting its stride in the third week, and Anne was enjoying it. They’d gotten over the hump of the start of term, and she was thriving. This Friday morning was a sunny one, and Anne was on top of the world. She was feeling particularly dishy in her navy trousers, white shirt, and grey tie; she’d taken her jacket off, and now she prowled the cramped classroom with her sleeves rolled up, occasionally toying with her suspenders. Ann had bought them for her last week, and she'd nearly made Anne late this morning because of them. 

She was gearing up to pick apart the Sowden boy’s latest argument when the door creaked open. Turning her head sharply to the right and preparing to tear into whomever dared interrupt her, Anne stopped dead in her tracks. There, in the dingy room where she preached Virgil three times a week, was Ann Walker. Her wife wore a simple white shirt tucked into a pale blue, high-waisted skirt, nude flats, and her curls pulled back demurely. She was the picture of a classic co-ed, and Anne lost her train of thought. Ann winked and slipped into the first chair on the end.

“Uh, as I was, uh, saying,” Anne stammered, “Mr. Sowden, the, uh, the problem with - uh,” she shook her head, “Miss Pickford, can you point out the problem for us?”

Pic was more than happy to do anything Anne asked, and Anne allowed herself to relax and lean back against her desk. She stretched her long legs in front of her; her pink socks peeked out between the hem of her trousers and her brogues. Pic's voice barely registered, so enamored was Anne with her newest student. 

And Ann, for her part, was encouraging her lascivious gaze. She crossed her legs, and, even though her skirt only exposed a hint of skin above the knee, Anne was salivating. Ann smiled and threw her eyes to the rest of the class, who were waiting expectantly for Anne’s next question. 

“Uh, right, Miss Washington,” she stuttered, “why don’t you paraphrase what Miss Pickford just said?” Because, frankly, Anne hadn’t heard it.

The next fifteen minutes were agony, and not just because Susannah Washington clearly hadn't been listening any more than Anne had. She tried to salvage the lesson, at the very least finish covering the translation, but it was no use. Ann was positively infuriating, there on the side by the wall, shooting the filthiest looks across the room. More than once Anne dropped her battered copy of _The Aeneid_ on the floor, drawing soft giggles from her wife. She felt the traitorous burn of a blush rising under her collar and dismissed class early. The majority of the students shuffled out, grateful for the additional five minutes and shocked at the behavior of their professor, who was usually so well-controlled. 

Anne turned to her desk, hurriedly stuffing papers and books into her bag. Pic appeared by her side. Anne groaned internally.

“Can I help you, Miss Pickford?”

“I had a few questions about the assignment for Monday.”

Anne suppressed the urge to roll her eyes and humored Pic’s blatant attempt to get closer to her. The attempts at flirting were getting more and more desperate, and Anne had intended to say something about it today. For now, however, she was preoccupied by the scene playing out just over Pic’s shoulder. That Sowden boy was chatting up Ann, and Ann was humoring him! Twirling her hair around one finger. Smiling politely. Nodding along as he spoke. Anne’s blood boiled. 

“Honestly, Pic, I’m not sure I understand your question,” she said impatiently, cutting the poor girl off in the middle of a sentence. “You have my email. Give me a shout over the weekend.”

She barely heard Pic’s murmured agreement, nor did she even register the thinly veiled excitement flash across her face at the prospect of _weekend communication_. Anne was too busy pushing past her, striding purposefully toward her wife; she parked herself next to that insolent young man. Ann’s face lit up as she approached.

“Get out of here, Sowden,” Anne said gruffly. 

The boy’s eyes flicked to his professor only for a moment before returning to Ann.

“Can I at least get your phone number?” He asked hopefully.

“I don’t think so,” Ann said with a kind smile as she wrapped her arm around Anne’s waist.

“Uh…” Anne watched the wheels turn in his head. “Oh! Oh,” he nodded. “Oh, sorry, Dr. Lister, I didn’t -”

“Goodbye, Sowden.”

Ann started to laugh as he rushed out the door, following Pic, who seemed to miss the entire interaction. Anne put an arm over her shoulders and squeezed, shaking her head. The residual annoyance at Sowden transformed into desire. Sowden was handsome, if Suzannah was to be believed, and he was young. A hard worker. Earnest. A “catch” by certain standards. Not Ann’s though, right?

“I don’t tolerate tardiness, Miss Walker,” she teased as she walked Ann toward her office, “and I certainly don’t allow fraternizing with classmates.”

“The heart wants what it wants, Dr. Lister.”

“Is that so?” She unlocked her office and held the door for Ann. 

“You’re not going to do something nasty to that poor boy now, are you?”

“I just might,” Anne said thoughtfully, leaning against the closed door. She flicked the lock. “But first, I think I might do something nasty with you.”

“Dr. Lister,” Ann said saucily, dropping her bag on Anne’s desk, sauntering closer, and draping her arms around Anne’s neck. 

Their lips met passionately, and Anne grabbed Ann by the waist to pull their bodies flush. Ann tangled one hand in her hair, while the other traced over her neck, tugging Ann closer by the collar. Their tongues slipped against each other, as the desire in Anne’s belly stoked higher. Without breaking the kiss, she flipped them around, pressing Ann back into the door. She pressed her thigh between Ann’s legs, grinding their hips together. 

“Would you have done it?” Anne breathed into her ear, untucking Ann’s shirt with one hand. 

“Done what?” Ann stretched her neck back under Anne’s hungry kisses. 

“Given him your number,” she growled as her hand found the warm skin of Ann’s belly.

“Of course not,” Ann sighed, her eyes slipping closed as Anne’s hand slipped into her bra. 

“What if you were younger?”

“What?” Ann’s voice was dreamy. Anne could tell she was only half-listening.

“If you’d met Sowden when you were younger,” Anne’s lips moved languidly across the pale column stretched before her, “when you were in uni, before we got together, would you have given him your number?”

“Pony,” Ann groaned, “of course not.”

“Damn right,” Anne growled, satisfied with that response. For now, at least. She tugged at Ann’s skirt, bunching it around her waist and slipping her hand between her legs. “Oh, Miss Walker,” she purred, “no panties?”

Ann chuckled breathlessly; she was already lifting her hips into Anne’s touch, asking for more. Anne pulled her hand out of Ann’s bra, wrapping it instead around Ann’s back, holding Ann close as her other hand teased her entrance. Still pressing her lips and tongue to Ann’s neck, she danced her fingers through Ann’s impossibly wet folds. Ann pulled her closer, her fingers digging into Anne’s shoulders.

“Yes” she moaned softly.

In no mood to wait, Anne thrust sharply into her wife, filling her easily with two fingers. Ann’s startled cry filled the room, and Anne quickly set a punishing rhythm. Ann was so wet, so ready, so desperate. Her clit begged for Anne’s thumb, and Anne was never able to deny her anything. Moving fluidly, she drew soft whimpers and whines from her rapidly unraveling wife. She nipped at her jugular, pressed her lips to the underside of her jaw, then caught her lips for a deep kiss. Ann broke away, panting, eyes screwed shut in concentration as she chased her release. 

“You’re close, aren’t you, Miss Walker?”

Ann whined in response.

“You’ll remember this, won’t you?”

Ann nodded furiously, her head banging against the thick door behind her. 

“The next time some punk hits on you,” Anne growled, her hand moving furiously between Ann’s legs, “you’ll remember to whom you belong.”

“Yes,” Ann panted, “I did, Pony, I did I -”

“I know,” Anne soothed as Ann trembled in her arms, “I know you did, baby.” 

With soft kisses and murmured encouragement, Anne coaxed her darling wife over the edge. Ann sagged in her arms, her chest still heaving. Their lips met slowly as Ann found her feet.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Miss Walker?” Anne grinned as she released her and perched on the edge of her desk.

“Just wanted to surprise you,” Ann said as she followed, planting herself between Anne’s dangling legs and toying with her tie. 

“Mission accomplished,” Anne purred, settling her hands on Ann’s hips, enjoying the disheveled wrinkle of her shirt, the uneven bunching of her skirt, the fading red marks along her neck. 

“You do know I wouldn’t have given him my number, don’t you, Pony?” Ann’s finger slipped under one of her braces; her other hand still twisting in the grey fabric of Anne’s tie.

“Yes, darling.” Anne kissed her quickly. “Can’t stop the green-eyed monster, though.”

“I liked it” Ann smiled as she brought their lips together.

“How’d you like class?” Another kiss.

“Loved it.” Ann kissed her a little longer this time. “Though the professor seemed distracted.”

“Did she?” Their lips met again; Anne briefly caught Ann’s bottom lip between her teeth as she pulled away. 

“I didn’t mind.” Ann eased her braces off her shoulders. “I couldn’t focus either.”

“No?” Anne grinned as Ann flicked open the button to her trousers.

“You see, this professor,” Ann slipped her hand past the waistband of Anne’s boxers, steadying herself with the other firmly on the desk behind Anne, “she was just about the most handsome thing I’d ever seen.”

“Really?” Anne jolted at the first pass of Ann’s fingers across her clit; her hands tightened around Ann’s hips.

“Oh yes.” Ann’s breath was hot against her neck. “Tall. Dark. Handsome.” Her hand moved in rhythm with her words. “Neck. Tie. Bray. Ces. Pink. Socks.”

“Fuck,” Anne whispered, scooting forward and lifting her hips into Ann’s maddening touch. 

“That’s what I was thinking too,” Ann purred, picking up speed between Anne’s legs. “During that lecture. How you would fuck me.” She rolled her hips against Anne’s dangling knee. “How I would fuck you.”

Anne slumped forward, losing herself to the steady build of her climax. Good Lord, why hadn’t they done this sooner? Ann worked her steadily, her fingers never faltering, her lips trailing across Anne’s neck and jaw. It wasn’t long before that sublime feeling clenched in her belly, and she came with a shudder and a mumbled string of expletives. Ann eased her down with gentle words and soft touches. She opened her eyes just in time to see Ann slip her wet fingers between her lips; Anne threw her head back with a helpless groan.

“What?” Ann laughed.

“How are you so hot?” Anne said in grateful exasperation. 

She straightened, watching Ann shrug, then go to root through her bag. 

“D’you know what I was thinking, when I came here?”

“You just told me,” Anne reminded her. “You were thinking about fucking me. Naughty girl.”

“Yes,” Ann drawled, “but I was also wondering how soundproof this room might be.”

“You’re in luck,” Anne stood, replacing her fallen suspenders. “The office next to mine is your cousin Christopher’s, and he’s gone on sabbatical. Besides, it’s Friday afternoon, there’s not likely to be anyone around.”

“So if someone were making an awful lot of noise?” Ann pulled out that black box.

“No one would even hear them,” Anne said with mock concern, taking a step toward her wife and putting her hand on the box.

“Are you sure, Pony?”

“Bet my life on it,” Anne said truthfully. “The walls are thick, because the building is so old. I doubt there’s a soul in here. Definitely no one on this floor.”

Ann grinned devilishly and released the box. Anne went to unlace her shoes, but Ann put a hand on her arm.

“I was wondering.”

“Sure.”

“If perhaps you’d…” Ann bit her lip. How was she still so shy? Anne adored this about her. “Perhaps you’d leave your trousers on. And these.” She hooked her fingers in one of Anne’s braces and released it, letting it flick against her shoulder. “Or, at least, you’d have them on, when I walk in.”

“When you walk in?” This was getting interesting. 

“I’m going to make sure no one is on this floor.” Ann smoothed her hand along Anne’s shirt. “And when I come back, you’ll be ready?”

“Yes,” Anne growled, kissing her once fiercely before she scurried out the door.

Good Lord, Anne thought to herself as she tugged off her trousers, very nearly ripping her boxers in her desperate attempt to get them off over her shoes. Ridiculous, she laughed to herself. Ann certainly had her well-heeled. Settling the harness around her hips, she left it loose enough to button her trousers again. She’d just slipped the suspenders over her shoulders when there was a knock at the door. 

“Miss Walker,” she purred, opening the door. “Please come in.”

“Forget it, Dr. Lister.” Ann pulled her close. “It’s no use.”

“What?”

“Denying this,” Ann said melodramatically. “I see the way you look at me in class.”

“Oh,” Anne caught up, “right. Well, I can’t help myself.”

“I can’t wait any longer,” Ann said, pushing Anne backward. She sat down heavily in her office chair. “I need you.”

“We shouldn’t,” Anne said weakly.

“Shut up,” Ann said breathlessly, crashing their lips together. 

Anne’s head was spinning, but she could hold Ann’s head in her hands and meet the fervor of her kiss. Whatever character this was that Ann was doing? Anne loved her. Ann dropped into her lap, straddling her; her flats clattered to the floor. Tilting her head, she deepened the kiss, her fingers wrapping around the suspenders, pulling Anne close. Anne groaned as Ann’s breasts pressed against her. She broke away with a gasp, and Ann shoved the suspenders from her shoulders. She slid to the floor.

“Please, Dr. Lister.” Ann’s hands were at her waistband. “Fuck me. Just once.”

“It’s not right.” Anne took her hands, gripping them tightly in her own. “That Sowden boy, he’s better for you, he’s -”

Ann silenced her with another fierce kiss.

“He means nothing to me.”

Anne released her hands, sagging back against the soft leather of her chair as Ann deftly worked open her trousers and tightened the buckles of the harness. And then, Anne nearly lost her life: Ann Walker took her cock in her mouth.

“Oh, fuck.”

Ann wrapped her lips around the pink silicone, taking the toy deep into her throat. Anne’s jaw dropped. Her heart pounded. She had no thoughts in her head. Her entire being was consumed by the intensely arousing sight before her. Ann had never done this before, but clearly she’d been working on it. The thought of that sent another wave of arousal to Anne’s core. Desire pumped through her veins as Ann’s mouth moved up and down over her cock, sending jolts of electricity through her as the base pressed against Anne’s core. Ann pulled back with a satisfied smirk.

Unable to form coherent thoughts, Anne grabbed her face in both hands and brought their lips together. She pulled Ann up into her lap, the cock thick and wet between them. Taking a fistful of Ann’s skirt in one hand, she slid the other between Ann’s legs. She teased her clit, then her entrance, just for a moment, before thrusting two fingers in. Ann cried out. 

“You’re so wet, baby,” Anne groaned. 

“Fuck me,” Ann whined, her hands fumbling over the zipper at her hip. 

Anne very nearly tore the skirt off, but she managed to slip it up Ann’s slim torso and over her narrow shoulders. She took a moment to drink in the sight before her: her impossibly gorgeous wife, wearing nothing but a plain white shirt, perched in her lap, wrapping one hand around Anne’s cock, and hovering her core over it. With a low moan, Ann slowly lowered herself. Anne’s eyes were glued on the silicone, and when it disappeared, she looked up to find Ann watching her, her eyes half-lidded, her lips parted, her cheeks flushed. Anne took her hips, guiding her into a gentle rhythm. 

“Good God,” Anne said reverently. “Where - fuck.” Ann rolled her hips, sending a jolt to Anne’s clit. “Where did a nice girl like -unh, like you learn to - oh, fu- to ride cock?”

Ann cried out, dropping her head to Anne’s shoulder. Poor girl, she thought, she never did have much stamina in her legs. Anne knew what she needed. Stretching one arm out, she knocked the contents of her desk to the floor, clearing a wide space. She kissed Ann deeply as her hands drifted lower, gripping her thighs. As Anne lifted her in the air, Ann whined, clinging to her broad shoulders, lifting her legs around her narrow hips. Anne deposited her on the smooth wood of her desk, planting her hands on the cold surface and pulling away.

“Oh, my, Miss Walker,” she purred. “I’m going to fuck you nice and long and deep. Hmmm? Is that what you want? To be fucked properly?”

“Yes,” Ann gasped, wrapping her hands in the open front of Anne’s trousers and pulling her closer. “Yes, Dr. Lister, please.”

If nothing else, she had to admire Ann’s commitment to the character. With a grin, Anne pushed forward, moaning as her cock disappeared into Ann’s tight, clutching depths. Ann cried out with each firm thrust of Anne’s hips, one arm wrapped around her neck and keeping her suspended between Anne’s body and the desk. She reached behind Anne for one of her braces, tugging it upward. 

“Put - unh, put this - fuck, Anne, please,” Ann whimpered, her hand still pulling on the suspender as Anne thrust into her evenly. 

Ah, Anne thought, this is why she wanted the trousers to stay on. She slipped the brace over her shoulder, wrapping one arm around Ann’s back and steadying herself on the desk with the other. Ann grabbed the replaced suspender and tugged so hard Anne feared it would break. Their lips met sloppily, so great was their need, so desperate were their bodies. Anne was rutting into her wife as hard as she ever had, drawing breathless cries with every movement. The arm supporting Ann started to burn, but she couldn’t give up now. Already, she could feel the familiar fluttering of Ann’s core as she sped toward a harsh climax. Ann bucked her hips into Anne’s thrusts, filling the room with the filthy sound of their skin meeting, underscored by the rough scrape of the desk inching forward. She was mumbling incoherently now, her eyes screwed shut as Anne pounded into her. With a final, desperate scream, she seized, her entire body freezing for a moment, before she sank into a trembling release. 

Anne kissed her stretched neck, her flushed cheek, her panting lips. She lowered Ann to lie flat on the desk and started to pull out. Ann’s weak voice stopped her.

“Wait.”

“What?” Anne was incredulous. Surely Ann didn’t mean to go again?

“I want to make you come while you’re still inside me.”

“Oh my God,” Anne groaned. “How are you so -”

Anne stopped short when her wife sat up, smiling as her hands dove into her trousers. Her chest still heaving, she loosened the buckles enough to slip her hand between Anne’s legs, the other wrapping around her brace again. 

“I’m starting to -oh, uh, think you have a - a thing for my clothes.”

“I do,” Ann purred, her hips rolling against the cock still buried inside her. “I couldn’t focus all day - oh, Pony.” Anne had started to stroke her clit, matching Ann’s pace against her own. “All I could think ah- about was you and how good you looked this morning.”

“Adney,” she sighed, as Ann started to stroke faster. “You’re so good. God - you’re - you fuck me so good.”

“Likewise, handsome,” Ann said breathlessly.

And then neither of them spoke, their attention too caught up the pleasure building between their legs. Ann threw her head back, grinding her hips against the strap, her legs locked around Anne's hips. Anne pressed harder, her hips moving forward of their own accord, chasing Ann’s precise touch. Breathy moans and choked whimpers filled the room; their cries and their movements sped up until Anne shuddered. Frantic, she moved her hand quickly over Ann’s clit, rubbing desperately. Ann cried out a strangled plea for “Pony,” and they trembled together as twin releases washed over them. 

“Good heavens,” Anne sighed a long moment later. “I love you so much.” She kissed Ann lightly. 

“Pretty good, huh?” Ann panted, biting her lip as Anne eased the strap out.

“Pretty good?” Anne collapsed into her desk chair with a laugh. “Yes, darling, I would say that was pretty good.”

“I’ve been thinking about that for a while.”

“Have you?” Anne slipped the lone suspender from her shoulder then stepped out of her trousers. 

“Oh, yes.” Ann held out her hand, and Anne passed her her skirt.

“How’d we do?” Anne took the harness from her hips, rooting around on the floor for her shorts. 

“Very well, Dr. Lister,” Ann teased, nudging Anne’s back with her bare foot.

“Good to hear.” Anne grinned, stepping into her underwear. “Did you knock off work early for this?”

“Of course not.” Ann stood, pulling her skirt around her hips. “You know we have a half-day on Fridays.”

“So can I expect more of the same next week?” Anne fastened the button to her trousers. 

“Only if you’re good,” Ann said saucily, tugging Anne’s suspenders around her shoulders again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Was feeling a little down on myself this morning, like maybe my writing sucks, and y'all almost didn't get this chapter. Not fishing for compliments, just being honest. Luckily, inspiration struck and I wrote this long-ass chapter. Nevertheless, she persisted. 
> 
> Anywho, hope you enjoyed!


	11. Al fresco, Ann Walker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are no bugs or anything icky in the grass at Shibden. Trust me.  
> Also, I know nothing about soccer. Leave me alone.

“Anne, d’you know you’re my favorite sister?” Marian said sweetly, peeking her head into the parlor.

Anne was sprawled on the couch, halfway through a ratty paperback she’d gotten at the used bookstore last weekend; Ann leaned against the opposite arm, her pale legs intertwining with Anne’s, her sketchpad in her lap. They’d settled here late in the afternoon after a lovely morning drive, a delicious breakfast in town, and a delightful romp in the back of Ann’s Range Rover. Ann was still sore, honestly, from yesterday’s trip to the university. She was glad to spend a bit of time intertwined on the couch, recovering. She watched her wife huff and turn to Marian.

“What do you want?” She said with a sigh. 

“Thomas is going to stay the night.”

“What?” 

Anne set her book down on Ann’s calf, hardly even realizing she’d done so. Ann loved when Anne did this - the cool press of the paper against her skin, the familiarity of it, the absentminded way she treated Ann’s body as an extension of her own. As much as she appreciated this moment, however, she tensed at Anne’s sharp tone. This looked to be the set-up for a massive sisterly row.

“His apartment is being fumigated,” Marian said timidly.

“That’s not our problem.”

“He hasn’t anywhere to go.”

“I assume he has family.” Anne’s tone was cold. Ann squeezed her ankle.

“They live three hours away.”

“He has a car.”

“Have a heart, Anne!” Marian’s shoulders sagged as she stepped more fully into the room. “He drives three hours home, then three hours back here in the morning? Not likely.”

“Tomorrow’s Sunday. He doesn’t work on Sunday.”

Marian bit her lip, hesitating. Ann predicted this was about more than a fumigated apartment. Poor Marian, she thought. She never brought anyone around, but she told Ann she ran hot and cold with Thomas. To hear Marian talk, either she was desperate for him and unable to get enough or he was trailing behind her like a kicked puppy. Clearly, they were in a hot period.

“We have plans tomorrow,” Marian said softly.

“What kind of plans?” Ann asked kindly. 

“Farmer’s market,” Marian brightened, “and, uh, brunch, and then we might go for a drive, or -”

“Skipping church then,” Anne said curtly. “Marian, you don’t have to ask my permission to have your boyfriend stay over.

Ann squeezed her ankle again. Really, Anne should recognize the effect she had on people. The entire household, staff included, lived halfway between exasperation and fear; Anne was infuriating and annoying, but it wasn’t worth incurring her wrath. It was easier to toe the line than attempt to argue. Aunt Anne and Captain Lister accepted this with a kind of indulgent benevolence; they understood and appreciated Anne’s eccentricities, and they loved her enough to let her be. Not to mention, they loved their own peace too much to bother. Marian was no match for Anne’s arguments, much as she tried, and the sisters were engaged in a near-constant power struggle. Ann, for her own part, was the only one to successfully change Anne’s mind; she used this power sparingly, however, for fear of losing its effect. 

“I’d like him to stay for dinner,” Marian dared. 

Anne scoffed, shook her head, and picked up her book. Ann squeezed her ankle and gave her a stern look. 

“I’m not having dinner with Thomas Beech,” Anne said flatly. “Not in my own home.”

“You would do if he didn’t work for you. If he were just my boyfriend.”

“Precisely, Marian, now you understand.”

“Anne.” Marian sank to her knees at her sister’s elbow. “Please. This is important to me. It’s one dinner.”

“Ann and I can go out, if you’re set on him dining with Aunt and Father.”

“I want - damn it, Anne.” Marian stood. “He’s going to be pretty insulted if you don’t show up to dinner in your own home. It’s rude. It’s disrespectful. It’s -”

“We’ll get it worked out,” Ann said with a smile. “I’m looking forward to getting to know Thomas better.”

Marian mouthed a silent “thank you” and scurried out of the room. Anne dog-eared the page of her book, drawing her legs up to sit crisscross in front of her. She crossed her arms and fixed Ann with a sharp look. 

“Pony,” Ann sighed, “it’s one dinner.”

“Ann.” Anne’s tone was cold. “This is my house. I have certain boundaries. Including not sharing meals with my staff. Not on the weekends. Not in the dining room.”

Ann paused. She knew she needed a new strategy to warm Anne to this idea. Luckily, Anne was pretty easy to convince. For her, at least.

“Do you know,” Ann said softly, leaning forward on her hands and inching toward her wife “that you only call me 'Ann' when you’re upset with me?”

“What?” 

Anne was still flat, disinterested. Ann crawled closer; she knew Anne couldn’t resist her cleavage in this dress. 

“Sometimes you say it when you come.” Anne’s face was inches from her own; she could tell Anne was struggling to restrain herself. “But mostly, you call me ‘Adney,’ which you know I love.” Anne grunted, and Ann smiled. Progress. “Other times, you use my full name. Ann Walker,” she breathed, her lips ghosting over Anne’s - not touching, not yet. “Half the time, it’s because you’re saying something beautiful and lovely and romantic.” She held Anne’s gaze for a long beat. “And the other half,” sitting back on her heels, she took the collar of Anne’s faded denim shirt in her hands, “you’re getting ready to do the filthiest thing to me.”

Finally, she pressed her lips to Anne’s, hard, but only for a moment. She pulled away, releasing Anne’s collar. Her wife’s lips were parted, her eyebrows knit together. Ann retreated to her side of the couch.

“So, Pony, darling, whatever filthy thing you’re thinking of right now,” she paused, knowing how Anne’s mind worked - better to give her a few moments to think of something really good - “I’m not going to let you do it, unless you’re nice to Thomas Beech tonight.”

Ann watched her wife's expressive face go through the stages of grief, finally landing at acceptance with a laugh. Anne lunged forward, bringing their lips together through the laughter. 

“Dirty trick, Miss Walker,” Anne growled as she leaned back.

“And you call me ‘Miss Walker’ when you’re teasing me. ‘Mrs. Lister’ when you’re teasing me, but you’re feeling a little possessive.”

“I should have you over my knee for this,” Anne said, standing and stretching.

“Sounds lovely,” Ann purred, rising and wrapping her arms around Anne’s middle, “but you’ll have to be nice to Marian’s boyfriend first.”

Anne laughed and kissed her again. Cordingley’s jolly voice called them from the dining room. The couple went in, hand-in-hand. Ann adored Cordingley, and she missed her sorely on Sundays and Mondays when she wasn’t working. She’d promised to help Ann learn to bake sometime, but Ann had yet to take her up on it. She made a mental note to set up a time with her for next week. Maybe a sweet surprise for Anne one night.

“I suppose Marian got this idea from you,” Anne said to her aunt as she sat down.

“And what if she did?” Aunt Anne chuckled. “You’re going to be civil, won’t you?”

“Yes,” Ann nudged her wife, “Anne is going to be perfectly lovely.”

Anne rolled her eyes, but for the first twenty minutes, she hardly said a word. Thomas was actually a really pleasant fellow, perhaps not the brightest, but he certainly wasn’t a bad guy. Ann could see why Marian liked him, and he was clearly besotted with her. She could see the appeal of a guy like Thomas - beefy, square jaw, easy to laugh. Ann compared him with her own wife, so straight-backed and severe, her thin fingers wrapped around her knife like a scalpel. And yet, Anne could be just as jovial as Thomas. As silly and smiley and eager to please. For now, however, Anne had shifted into Mistress-of-Shibden-Hall Mode. Call-me-Dr.-Lister Mode. Get-your-hand-off-my-sister’s-knee mode.

“I knew you were a good man!” Thomas laughed, clapping Captain Lister on the back. “Man U the whole way.” 

“I’m bloody tired of Ole screwin’ around with us.”

Ann zoned out again, unable to follow the manly sports talk. Aunt Anne leaned over to them.

“You’re a very good sport,” she whispered.

Anne grunted. Aunt Anne winked at Ann. Everyone in the family was aware of Ann’s near-magical ability to sway the head of the household, and none seemed to enjoy watching it in action more than Aunt Anne. 

“So Thomas,” Anne said suddenly, “how many times have you been divorced?”

“None, ma’am,” Thomas answered, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

“Oh, I guess I assumed,” Anne shrugged, “a young man like yourself, in his mid-30s.”

“I’m twenty-eight, ma’am.”

“Are you?” Anne nodded, then sucked her teeth. “Guess you have a lot of options, don’t you? All manner of girls -”

“Ow!” Captain Lister grunted, leaning forward and rubbing his shin.

Ann blushed, retracting her leg. Captain Lister was prone to stretching his legs out to the middle of the table. She had miscalculated.

“Marian tells me you’re going to open your own garage, is that right?” Ann said quickly, trying to change the subject.

“Yes, ma’am, if I can get the funding. Me and my buddies -”

“My buddies and I,” Anne interrupted, her voice dripping with disdain.

Ann grabbed her knee and squeezed. Hard. Anne winced, laying a hand over Ann’s in surrender. 

“What are you going to do?” Anne asked, gritting her teeth.

“We’re going to open a garage, and the whole thing is going to be, like, _cars_.”

Thomas smiled proudly. Marian looked at him, then back at her sister, smiling helplessly. Ann bit her lip to suppress a laugh.

“Sounds lovely,” Ann grinned, “don’t you think, darling?”

“Yes,” Anne said stiffly, “a great idea.”

“And I think we’ll have a pub attached.” Thomas’s eyes gleamed with excitement. “So you can have a pint, while you get your oil changed!” 

“You’ve got a good lad, Marian,” Captain Lister crowed, beaming. 

Marian blushed and looked down at her lap, Thomas slinging an arm across the back of her chair. Maybe it wasn’t true love, Ann thought, but he did seem crazy about her. Marian deserved to be worshiped like that. To be really, properly happy.

“Thomas does have a way with engines,” Anne conceded. 

“He really does!” Aunt Anne said happily, “I watched him change a tire in about three minutes!”

“He just about replaced my transmission,” Anne added, “and the Jeep does run incredibly well since he started.” 

“What can I say?” Thomas laughed. “I’ve got a fifth sense for these things.”

Anne interlaced their fingers on her knee. As the family continued to extol Thomas’s many virtues, Ann knew her wife was nearing her breaking point. Anne squeezed her hand once - a silent “can we go, please?” Ann squeezed back, granting permission. 

“I’ve enjoyed about as much of this as I can stand,” Anne said, standing and tossing her napkin onto her plate. “Lovely to see you, Thomas. Ann, darling, will you join me for a walk in the garden?”

Ann rolled her eyes, for the benefit of the family, and stood. She did see, however, that Anne squeezed her sister’s shoulder on her way out of the room. Anne wouldn’t, likely couldn’t, acknowledge approval of Marian’s relationship out loud, so this was the only way. This small gesture spoke volumes, and each of the Listers understood it. Anne grabbed her short grey jacket from the hook, holding out Ann’s pale blue trench coat for her. Ann turned, shrugging into the coat; a jolt of electricity shot through her as Anne’s hands brushed over her arms, shoulders, neck. Anne’s gentlemanly ways never failed to thrill her. 

Taking her wife’s hand on their way out the back door, Ann pressed a kiss on her shoulder. The sun had already set, and the garden was bathed in the faint light from the house. It was quiet, only the sound of their feet crunching in the grass, and they walked without speaking for several minutes. Reaching an open area, surrounded by low hedges, Anne turned and wrapped Ann in her arms, bringing their lips together. Ann held her close, her hands tangling in that dark hair she loved so much. As she pulled away, she saw Anne’s eyes dancing with fiendish delight. Her core clenched in anticipation.

“So, my dear, how’d I do?” 

“Very well, Pony,” Ann fiddled with her collar, her eyes glued to the hollow of Anne’s throat. “I think Thomas seems like a nice guy.”

“If you say so,” Anne scoffed. “Can I get my reward now?”

“Your reward?” Ann laughed.

“I’ve decided what ‘filthy thing’ I want in return for being so good.”

“Is the simple joy of seeing your sister happy not enough?”

“No,” Anne purred, slipping her hand under the hem of Ann’s skirt. 

“How about the satisfaction of pleasing your wife?”

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about.” Anne grinned, her fingertips tracing circles around Ann’s hip. 

“Not what I meant, Pony,” Ann teased, pressing her hips into Anne’s.

“Do you know, Adney, we’ve never made love under the stars?” Anne’s voice was low, sultry, thick.

“What?”

“ _Al fresco_ , Ann Walker,” Anne purred, her lips spreading into that fiendish smile. 

“So it’s Ann Walker now, is it?” 

Anne nodded seriously before catching Ann’s lips in a slow kiss. Ann tugged at her collar, pulling her close. The night was perfectly crisp, only the crickets underscoring the soft whimpers and low moans passing between them. Even just this, kissing and holding each other, was enough to set Ann’s heart racing. Anne had one hand splayed across her back, the other still dancing across the bare skin of her hip, just above and below the line of her panties. 

“Yes,” Anne purred as she pulled away, “Ann Walker. You know what that means.”

Ann laughed and looked around them. The grass was freshly cut, no sticks or rocks, and the hedges would shield them from any passersby. Anne had planned this, hadn’t she? 

“I certainly do.” Ann pushed Anne’s jacket from her shoulders. “But I won’t be getting grass stains on my back.”

Anne barked out a laugh, throwing her head back and exposing her long neck. Licking her lips, Ann watched her spread her jacket along the grass, then swept her hand widely and welcomingly. 

“My lady,” Anne purred. 

“Oh, Pony,” Ann shook her head, “you’re funny.”

With that, Ann pushed her lightly on the shoulder. Stumbling, Anne fell backward, her eyes dancing and her throaty laughter filling the air. She grabbed Ann by the hips, pulling her into her lap. Ann laughed as her knees hit the cold grass; she steadied herself with her hands on Anne’s strong shoulders. 

“Naughty girl,” Anne purred, slipping Ann’s coat from her shoulders; Ann shivered - from the brisk night air or the electric touch of her wife, she wasn’t sure. “You always think you’re in charge, don’t you?”

“Am I not?” Ann sighed as Anne’s lips found her neck, her hands gently kneading her hips and behind. 

“Ann Walker,” Anne growled into her neck, “you’re too good to be true.”

Ann laughed again, reveling in the easy way between them. She’d never understood chemistry before, the way two people can come together and just click or vibe or whatever the word was. Until Anne. With Anne, everything was natural. The way their bodies fit together - indeed, Anne’s hand was already slipping into her underwear. The rhythm of their hearts - even now, her hips were rolling in tandem with the gentle strokes of Anne’s hand. The effortless transition from laughter to soft signs to building passion to indescribable ecstasy. 

But not yet - now, Anne was teasing between her folds, dragging her lips along her neck, running her hand along her spine. For now, it was enough to enjoy the slow build of desire between them. The way Anne’s long fingers slipped inside her, curling and coaxing. The way Anne’s lips met her flushed neck and pressed against the sharp line of her jaw. The way Anne’s arm wrapped around her as she lowered Ann gently back into the grass.

“I’ll pay for the dry cleaning,” Anne breathed in her ear.

Ann laughed breathlessly, no longer giving a damn about grass stains, clothing, or, frankly, anything but the mounting pleasure between her legs. Ann tilted her chin weakly, reaching upward to curl her arms around Anne’s shoulders. Their lips met, slow and languid and deep. And surely this was heaven, Ann mused. It wasn’t the first time Ann had thought as much while wrapped in Anne’s strong arms. But tonight, with the gentle song of the crickets and the cool night air and the soft earth of Anne’s estate - _their_ estate - there was nothing and nowhere better. 

“Pony,” Ann moaned, “I love you.” 

“And I love you,” Anne husked, slightly out of breath as her hand moved faster. 

Her own whimpers echoed in her ears as Ann hurtled toward her release. When had she gotten so close? It was almost a surprise, when that warmth rushed through her veins, seized her muscles, flooded her chest. Her body stretched taut as she shot over the edge, landing in that gently rolling sea of delight. 

“Oh, Pony,” Ann sighed, relaxing back into the grass. 

Anne kissed her once, then sat back on her heels. Ann teasingly hooked her fingers in her waistband, without intent, grinning like a fool in love. Which, Ann supposed, she was. 

"Was it worth it?” Ann teased, “sitting through that dinner?” 

“Making love to the girl I love,” Anne said quietly, “on the land I love?” She grinned widely. “Abso-fucking-lutely.” 

“Be honest,” Ann whispered as she tugged at Anne’s belt, “and I won’t be cross. Did you ever,” she flicked open Anne’s trousers, “do that with anyone else?” 

No,” Anne said firmly. “You think Mariana Lawton would lie down in the grass with me?” She rolled her eyes playfully. “Please.” 

Ann laughed, pushing Anne onto her back; Anne landed on her own jacket, propping herself on her elbows with a smirk. There was a time Ann would’ve retracted at this mention of Mariana, but not these days. Since their weekend in town before the start of term, Ann hadn’t felt that old jealousy. Mariana was an old ghost, growing weaker and fainter every day. She tugged at Anne’s trousers and boxer-briefs. Ann was slowly siphoning out the boxers and replacing them with a rainbow of the tighter shorts she preferred. If Anne had noticed, she didn’t mention it. 

“Good,” Ann cooed as she slipped Anne’s bottoms to her knees, “because, now, Dr. Lister, you’re mine.” 

Anne licked her lips, grinning at the starry sky above them. She was quite a sight, like this - wrinkled, denim shirt pushed up to showcase her flat stomach, khaki chinos pulled down, exposing the thatch of dark hair between her legs and the grey waistband of her underwear just above her knees. If Ann Walker had a pin-up, this would’ve been it. 

Anne spread her legs as far as she could, restrained as they were in her pants. Ann settled between them, her belly resting on Anne’s feet and her hands slipping under her hips. Was it a little uncomfortable? Sure. Did they have a perfectly good bed inside? Certainly. Would Ann have changed it? No way. The cool grass scratched her knees as she bent to swipe her tongue through Anne’s arousal. She moaned against Anne’s core, relishing the heady taste of her, the tensing of her thighs, the firm pressure of her hands in her hair. She worked Anne’s clit slowly, building up pressure as Anne’s choked moans filled the night air. 

“Unh, Ann, ye- uh, baby,” Anne was stammering; Ann could hear her head turning in the grass. Anne sometimes got like this when she was close - incoherent and desperate and restless. Gripping those narrow hips tighter, Ann worked her tongue faster. “Yes, Ann, yes, ri- right there, unh, yes.” 

And with that final, high-pitched word, Anne trembled below her. Ann eased her down gently, then pulled away; her wife’s eyes were still closed, one hand fisted in her shirt, the other limp in the grass. Lowering her head, Ann ran her tongue along the slick inside of Anne’s thighs, licking her clean. She pressed her lips to Anne’s belly, her hip bones, the tops of her thighs, all the way down her legs, until she reached her trousers. Anne lifted her hips weakly, and Ann slid her bottoms back up to her waist. She fastened the zipper and the button and the belt, then kissed Anne’s belly once more before collapsing on top of her with a giggle. 

"I can dress myself,” Anne said with a smirk, running one hand along Ann’s spine. 

“You can’t, in fact.” Ann teased, pressing her lips to Anne’s throat. “I picked out every outfit you wore this week.” 

“I only let you do that, because you enjoy it.” 

“Right,” Ann said indulgently, “not because you tried to wear a black jacket and blue trousers last week.” 

“It was dark,” Anne protested; “I thought they were the same color.” 

Ann laughed. They laid there, together, in the grass, under the stars. It was properly romantic, Ann thought, and she felt her eyelids grow heavy. She didn’t know how much time had passed when Anne’s low voice slipped in her ear. 

“Adney, let’s go to bed.” 

Ann nodded, rising painfully to her feet; she heard Anne’s knees crack as she stood. They laughed, shaking their heads and sharing a thought: they were too old for this. It was decently chilly now, and Ann was grateful for her coat. They rushed inside, arm-in-arm, and found the house dark. It must’ve been late, Ann realized; no telling what the family thought of them, disappearing after dinner like that. 

She was getting over her embarrassment about that, in most cases, she thought proudly as she got undressed. The family knew what they were up to, but she didn’t mind. It was strange, in a way, all the different sides of a person. There was Ann The Sister and Ann The Friend and Ann The Very Wealthy And Reclusive Benefactor, but there was also Ann The Lover, Ann The Teacher, Ann The Future Lister. Making peace with these various facets of her personality was a process, but she was getting better at it. Hell, she could even talk to Marian about sex. Sometimes. 

“You look awfully serious,” Anne teased, bumping her hip and picking up her toothbrush. 

Ann gave her a frothy, minty grin, shaking her head. They were a handsome couple, she thought, studying their reflection as they brushed their teeth in unison. Anne so tall and dark - sharp lines and quick eyes. Herself so pale and diminutive - curved edges and gentle smile. What did Marian and Thomas see when they brushed their teeth together? Or did they? Perhaps they just tore each other's clothes off with no regard for their dental health. She and Anne used to be like that. Sure, they still ripped each other's clothes off, on occasion, but they were much better about taking care of themselves. Ann decided this was better. She bent to spit. 

“I’m thinking of what a lovely couple we are.” She sauntered into the bedroom. “And what Thomas and Marian are getting up to next door.” 

“Oh, God,” Anne groaned, following her and climbing into bed. “Don’t remind me.” 

“It’s kind of sweet,” Ann snuggled into her side; “they really like each other.” 

“Whatever,” Anne said flippantly, reaching for her glasses and knocking them to the floor. “Damn.” 

Just then, as Anne bent over the side of the bed, Ann heard it. She was certain Anne must’ve heard it too. The bright trill of feminine laughter. A low grunt. Then, a pause. Ann tensed; perhaps she’d imagined it. No such luck: a rhythmic thumping started against the far wall. Anne turned to her, stricken. 

“Oh my God,” she whispered. 

“Oh my God,” Ann laughed. 

They stared at each other, wide-eyed, for a moment, as the thumps kept up their steady pace. Anne shook her head and started rooting through her nightstand. She produced two pairs of earplugs. 

“I can't go to sleep without your voice,” Ann pouted. 

“Fine.” Anne was already rolling one between her fingers. “But I’m using this.” 

Ann rolled her eyes and snuggled back into Anne’s side. Her earplugs firmly in place, Anne flicked open the book, and her low voice filled the room. Smiling faintly, Ann closed her eyes, ready to drift to sleep to the sound of the Lister sisters expressing their love. Oh, she was going to give Marian so much shit in the morning. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> You all are so lovely - thank you for the generous, kind feedback on the last chapter. The world seems to be growing crazier and crazier with each passing day. Writing this silly story is helping me stay on track (aka not refreshing Twitter every second). Hope it's a little escape for you as well.
> 
> Someone suggested Thomas and Marian giving the Ann(e)s a taste of their own medicine, but I forget who. Thank you! Also, pretty sure ReleaseTheSheep gave the idea of the "Ann Walker" bit. Thank you! I'm blatantly stealing y'all's ideas at this point. Or, um, using your suggestions. Yeah. 
> 
> Also, I recognize it's a bit of a longshot for Ann to be so okay with the thumping headboard next door, but I liked the contrast between her calm and Anne's horror. I think it's plausible she and Marian might talk - generally - about sex, and that Ann in her sated, sleepy bliss before bed might not mind it. 
> 
> Let me know what you thought!


	12. It’s killing work

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, everyday: just write a short chapter today  
> also me: write nearly 5k for no reason

“Good morning,” Anne purred in her wife’s ear, climbing back into bed after her walk. Ann was still curled up, the sheets twisted around her lithe body; she stirred with a soft moan as Anne wrapped her arms around her and pressed against Ann’s back. It was still early, just past seven, and the sun was barely peeking in through the windows. “How did you sleep?”

“Badly,” Ann pouted, “my back is acting up.”

“Oh, darling,” Anne cooed, “I’m sorry. What can I do?”

“Medicine.”

Anne hummed and went into the bathroom. Ann’s back pain came in waves, and it had been a few weeks since she’d had significant pain like this. The only way to really prevent Ann ever feeling this pain would be to confine her to bed, but Ann was desperate not to let it limit her. In moments like these, Anne felt guilty for encouraging Ann to exert herself so much. The garden, really? She scolded herself as she came back with Ann’s daily pills, a few painkillers, and a glass of water.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly as Ann drank the water. 

“Don’t be.” Ann offered a gentle smile. “It’s not your fault.”

“I should not have -”

“Pony,” Ann warned. “I’m not having this argument with you. On the desk, in the car, on the grass - I loved every moment of it. And if you take it away from me,” she settled back into the pillows, “I’ll be very cross.”

“Okay.” Anne nodded. “No church, this morning, I trust?”

“Not for me, love, but you go.”

“Oh, no, I -”

“Go to the early one,” Ann wrapped the sheets more tightly around her body. “I’m going back to sleep anyway.”

“Are you sure?” Anne shifted from one foot to the other.

“Yes, Pony,” Ann was already closing her eyes, “take your nervous energy somewhere else. And don’t wear that grey suit,” she called as Anne went into the closet, “you wore it last week.”

Anne shook her head as she undressed. How had she ever managed without Adney? A totally monochromatic wardrobe helped. She really enjoyed going to church with her wife, she mused as she stepped into the shower, and it was a disappointment to go alone. Aunt Anne would be up in time. Her father? Not likely. He was never much on religion anyway. She dressed in burgundy trousers and a grey checked blazer with a simple grey tie; Ann cracked one eye open as she reached the door. 

“Will I do, Mrs. Lister?”

“Get back in this bed,” Ann teased, “and do me.”

Anne laughed and bent to kiss her forehead. She swept into the hallway, trying not to think about Marian and Thomas still cuddled up as she passed her door. Aunt Anne called from downstairs. 

“Antsy, I'm down here.”

Anne trotted down the stairs and found her aunt waiting in the foyer. She wore a simple mauve dress, her antique pearls gleaming around her neck, her cane thumping along the wood impatiently. Anne took her arm as they crossed the gravel to the garage. 

“Little Ann said you wanted to go to the early service. She not feeling well?”

“Her back.”

“Poor thing,” Aunt Anne tutted, stepping back so Anne could open the car door for her. “She worked so hard last night.”

Anne blanched as she rounded the BMW to get into the driver’s seat. She and Ann hadn’t even done anything in the house last night. Had Aunt overheard Marian and Thomas and mistaken them for Anne and Ann? Anne found herself vaguely insulted at the idea. Or had Aunt seen them in the garden? Anne’s gut twisted as she fastened her seatbelt.

“What do you mean?”

“Taming the lion,” Aunt Anne chuckled; “getting you to be so polite to poor Mr. Beech.”

“Poor Mr. Beech,” Anne laughed, backing out of the garage, “right.”

“He’s a nice boy.”

“Sure.”

“He makes your sister happy.”

“Debatable.”

“Well, anyway,” Aunt Anne said affably, “I’ve got to remember to thank Little Ann for getting you under control.”

“Under control?” Anne laughed.

“Getting you to behave at dinner.”

“Perhaps I just wanted to be civil. A good host.”

“Since when have you cared about being a good host?” Aunt Anne laughed, and Anne joined her. She’d been so caught up in Ann that it felt like ages since she’d had some proper alone time with her aunt. “I want Marian to be settled. Like you are. I’ll feel better, knowing that’s done.”

“Aunt...” Anne warned. She couldn’t bear any reference to her aunt’s age, health, or similarly morbid topics.

“Now, listen, it’s nothing like that. I just want her to be happy. To have someone to take care of her.”

“She doesn’t have to marry some idiot mechanic to be happy.”

“Anne,” she scolded, “be reasonable. He’s not an idiot.”

“I’m serious, Aunt. You don’t have to marry us off. Marian may not want to marry.”

“No, she may not,” Aunt Anne conceded, “but let her enjoy this while it lasts.”

Anne laughed and shook her head, parking the car. She helped her aunt into the church, settling in a pew near the back. She adored the eight o’clock service, so quiet and sparsely populated. No music, short homily, all business. Just Anne’s speed. Ann preferred the later services, and Anne appreciated the opportunity to show off to the larger crowd. Walking into church with Ann Walker on her arm was a specific, sublime pleasure. 

This morning, however, Anne enjoyed the short service with her aunt. The familiar, old-fashioned words rolled off her tongue. The priest’s nails weren’t as dirty as they usually were. Anne hardly fell asleep at all. Blinking in the bright sunlight, the Annes Lister stepped out of the church at half-past eight.

“Lovely service,” Aunt Anne smiled as she shook the priest’s hand.

“I interpret Paul's letter to the Ephesians a little differently,” Anne started, stepping closer. The priest sighed; he knew what was coming. “You see -”

“Anne!” A bright voice called from the sidewalk. “We’d better go.”

Making her apologies, Anne trotted quickly to her aunt with a concerned expression. Aunt Anne was laughing as she caught up, making for the car.

“Leave the poor man alone, Antsy.”

“I think he enjoys the debate,” Anne said defensively.

“I think you’re wrong on that one.”

Anne sped home, chatting amicably with her aunt. It was a beautiful morning, but all she could think about was getting back into bed. She wouldn’t admit it, but she missed Ann almost instantly. As soon as they parted, she thought of the moment they would be reunited. She ate a quick breakfast with the older set; Captain Lister had appeared by then, and he was full of praises for one Thomas Beech. Anne made her excuses and asked Hemingway for a plate of toast to bring to Ann. 

“Adney?” Anne said as she set the plate on Ann’s nightstand. “Are you awake?”

“No,” Ann said quietly, her eyes still closed. 

“Guess I’ll eat all this lovely toast by myself,” Anne joked, slipping off her jacket and loosening her tie. 

“There’s toast?” Ann’s eyes shot open.

Anne laughed and dropped into bed next to her, tilting her head to the plate. Ann grinned, sat up, winced. She reached for the plate and started munching happily. Anne snagged a piece. 

“How’s your back?”

“Oh, terrible, you know,” Ann shrugged. “It’s actually not as bad as it was. How was church?”

“Fine. Missed you.”

“So you could snore next to me?” Ann teased.

“I do not snore in church.”

Ann hummed, tilting her head side to side noncommittally. Anne scoffed and clicked her tongue. 

“Sometimes the sermons are very boring.”

“I know,” Ann said indulgently. “You’re a real trooper.”

Anne laughed and nudged her. They spent the rest of the morning chatting innocuously until Hemingway brought Ann lunch around eleven. Ann drifted to sleep, and Anne snuck out to her office. She answered a few emails, including a startlingly long one from Pic. Poor girl, Anne thought with pity, I’ll need to set her straight this week. The term was nearly half over anyway, so, really, she’d let the whole thing go on a bit long. Late in the afternoon, she tiptoed back to their bedroom to check on Ann.

“I hear you, Pony.”

Anne froze in the doorway. She hadn’t meant to wake her. 

“How are you, darling?”

“Would you rub my back?” 

“Of course.” Anne trotted to the bathroom for Dr. Day’s cream. She hung her trousers up, tossed her shirt in the hamper, and slipped a t-shirt over her head. She rooted through her drawers for a clean pair of loose boxers, but she only had boxer-briefs. Understanding clicked in her mind. She went back into the bedroom. “Adney, darling.”

“Pony,” Ann said warily, dropping her shirt onto the floor and rolling onto her stomach.

“What have you done with all of my underwear?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Anne swung a leg over Ann’s thighs, straddling her and unscrewing the top to the cream. 

“I have a suspicion, Miss Walker, that you are getting rid of my boxers.”

“Pony,” Ann admonished, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I think,” Anne started her gentle massage at Ann’s shoulders, “you know exactly what I’m talking about. I think you like these tight little numbers that appear in my drawer. I think,” Anne leaned down to whisper in her ear, “they make you hot.”

“I think,” Ann sighed happily, “you might be onto something.”

Anne threw her head back and laughed, continuing her gentle ministrations. This was another sublime pleasure Anne enjoyed - pressing her hands along every inch of skin on Ann’s pale back. She’d memorized all of it - the mole, the dimples, the notches of her spine. The way her waist nipped in. The sharp jut of her shoulder blades. The exquisite curve leading to her behind. Anne knew that if she played this moment just right, Ann would be desperate with desire by the time she was finished. It was all about timing. First, it was nothing more than a massage. An actual relieving of the pressure and tightness in Ann’s tense muscles. Slowly, Anne would start Phase 2: rocking her hips against Ann’s thighs and ass. Not intentionally, just - well, just in rhythm with the massage. Perfectly innocent. 

Phase 3 was less innocent. This was when she leaned forward, hands wrapped around Ann’s narrow waist, and placed kisses along her neck, her shoulders, along her spine. It was part of a loving, spousal massage. It was also, Anne knew, like catnip to her wife. She couldn’t get enough. If Phase 3 was successful, Ann would moan, groan, or whimper. Softly. A quiet acknowledgment of her growing desire. A tender surrender. Anne had started to wonder if the medicinal smell of Dr. Day’s creme was becoming an aphrodisiac for them; the taste of it on her lips was starting to have a Pavlovian effect. Anne pressed her lips to the inside of Ann’s waist.

“Pony,” Ann moaned.

Anne grinned. Success.

Phase 4 was the transition between innocent and dirty. She slipped her hands between Ann and the bed, travelling slowly upward until they covered Ann’s breasts. If Ann was not ready, she would laugh and scold Anne. If she was, Anne would be rewarded with a pleased sigh, a soft hum, or, perhaps, another plea for “Pony.” Anne was, without a doubt, addicted to that sound. Just as her hands met Ann’s breasts, a door downstairs slammed. Anne pressed her lips to Ann’s neck, ears perked for that delightful sound. Footsteps pounded up the stairs, muffled by the closed door. Ann’s mouth opened.

“Marian!”

“What?” Anne recoiled, sitting back on her heels.

“I want to talk to Marian,” Ann said, flipping onto her back. Her bare chest taunted Anne, who was both stunned and mesmerized. “Pass me my shirt.”

“What?” Anne said petulantly.

“Marian!” Ann called again. “Pony, get my shirt.”

“Be right there,” Marian’s voice came through the door.

Anne huffed and reached over the side of the bed for Ann’s shirt. Scowling, she sat on her side of the bed, pulling out her journal. She could take this to her office, leave Ann and Marian to their chat. Perhaps she’d go out somewhere all evening. Let Ann have all the time with Marian she could stand. Let her feel Anne’s absence.

“Don’t sulk,” Ann said tenderly, smoothing her hand over Anne’s thigh. “I want to tease Marian a little, that’s all.”

“We were in the middle of something,” Anne pouted.

“I’ll make it up to you,” Ann said, squeezing Anne’s thigh. 

Anne harrumphed, and the door swung open. Marian appeared, breathless in jeans and a black sweater. She started back at the sight before her - Ann and Anne leaning against the headboard, both seemingly in their underwear, Ann with her hand on Anne’s thigh. 

“I can come back,” she said, taking a step backward.

“No, no,” Ann raised both her hands, beckoning Marian over, “my back’s out today. Anne was giving me a massage. Come here, come talk to us.”

Anne thought about leaving, about following through with her sulking plan, but she found herself intrigued to see Ann and Marian’s dynamic in action. She flipped her journal open, but she didn’t pick up her pen. Marian sat at Ann’s feet, her face already shining with excitement.

“How was last night?” Ann grinned.

“Very nice,” Marian conceded, “thank you both.”

Anne harrumphed, feigning interest in her journal. Ann nudged her.

“Leave it, Pony,” Ann clicked her tongue. This wasn’t the first time Ann had used her pet name in front of Marian; Anne smiled at the progress they’d made since that night in the kitchen. “Let’s grill Marian about her boytoy.”

Both Listers laughed now, and Anne gave in. She couldn’t deny her curiosity, and Ann had such a playful glint in her eye. She snapped her journal closed.

“He’s not my boytoy,” Marian protested. 

Anne hummed, shaking her head. 

“The things I heard last night?” Ann said saucily, “that’s a boytoy at work.”

“Ann!” Anne exclaimed, surprised by her wife’s boldness. 

“I’m just saying,” Ann shrugged, “seems like Marian had a very good time.”

“I did - _we_ did,” Marian blushed and laughed. “I think Aunt and Father really liked him.”

“Did they?” Anne asked.

“Oh, yes, the football talk was all Father needed.” 

Anne and Ann nodded in unison. 

“And Aunt Anne is desperate for me to get married.”

“She told me as much this morning,” Anne offered.

“Did she really?”

“Someone to take care of you,” Anne said with a wink, “which, I guess, now we know young Thomas does quite well.”

Marian laughed in disbelief, and Anne joined her. Could they really be talking about sex like this? Anne turned to her wife - perhaps she really was a magician - capable of the impossible. Or a saint - able to perform miracles. Ann waggled her eyebrows.

“So what did you do today?” Ann asked Marian.

Marian rattled on about the farmer’s market and the brunch and everything else, but Anne wasn’t listening. She was still marveling at the turn her life had taken. Sitting in bed in the early evening, talking to her fiancée and her sister, in her underwear, as if it were the most natural thing on the planet. She barely thought of the estate affairs she could be handling right now, the countless, productive tasks she could be working on instead. No, right now, she was content to be a teasing older sister and an indulgent partner. Was she, Anne Lister, really sacrificing her own productivity to gossip with her sister on a Sunday afternoon? Was Ann Walker some kind of witch?

“So is he staying another night?” Ann asked.

“No, he’s going home,” Marian replied. “His apartment should be safe, and he has to work tomorrow.”

“Back for more,” Ann teased. 

“Not while he’s on the clock!” Anne protested, and they three fell out laughing. She could see Marian’s face coloring, and an opportunity presented itself. Anne was never one to pass up on a chance to rankle, tease, and otherwise get under the skin of her baby sister. “So, Marian, did you two break a hole in the wall last night or what?”

“Anne!” Marian cried, burying her face in her hands.

“It was pretty loud,” Ann said solemnly. 

Marian was laughing helplessly, unable to get a word out, her face bright red.

“I hope you’re using protection,” Anne matched her wife’s serious tone. “I’m not raising your love child.”

“Do you need condoms?” Ann whispered. “Are you embarrassed to buy them yourself?”

“Ann!” Marian smacked her arm. “You two are fine ones to talk.”

“We always practice safe sex,” Anne said seriously, “wait - darling,” she put her hand on Ann’s belly, “are you pregnant?” 

Ann laughed, and Anne nearly cried with the joy bubbling in her chest. Ann grabbed her hand and yanked it, her eyes dancing as their lips met for an instant. Anne pulled away with a grin.

“You two keep me up all hours,” Marian cried, “the filthy things that come through that wall!”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Ann said innocently, even as a blush crept up her neck.

“That’s right,” Anne grabbed her hand, “we’re waiting for marriage.” 

“As if,” Marian rolled her eyes and stood. “I’m off. Not that I don’t love being teased mercilessly by you pair of reprobates. Hemingway says dinner in twenty.” 

Anne watched her go, marveling at the novel sensation of enjoying her sister’s company. Ann turned to her, grinning. 

“See? You like your sister.”

“What?” Anne scoffed. “Of course I like my sister.”

“You don’t act like it,” Ann stood and stretched, “but you do. When you give her the chance.” Anne rolled her eyes. “I think I feel well enough to go down for dinner.” 

“Do you?” Anne slid over and grabbed her waist. “You may recall we were in the middle of something, Miss Walker.”

“Yes, Pony.” Ann ran her hands along Anne’s shoulders. “But twenty minutes is not enough time.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Anne purred, pulling her to the edge of the bed.

“No, darling, I’d rather wait, hmmm? Keep Marian up all night.” Ann pulled away with a wink.

Anne watched her go, dumbfounded at her incredible good fortune. She pulled on jeans before going downstairs. Dinner passed quickly enough, as did the standard evening family activities. Anne couldn’t hide her impatience, however, and, more than once, Ann reached out to still her jostling knee with a gentle hand. By the time the family trundled up to bed, Anne was ready to burst.

“God, Pony, be more obvious,” Ann laughed as they climbed the stairs.

“What?” Anne grabbed her waist.

“You were practically undressing me all night. It was downright indecent.”

“Was it?” Anne purred, pulling Ann flush as they reached their bedroom. 

“Yes,” Ann drawled, running her hands down Anne’s chest. “You were like a teenager. Good Lord.”

“It’s been _twenty-four hours_ ,” Anne whined. “I thought I was going to die.”

“You’re impossible,” Ann sighed, tilting her chin.

Anne brought their lips together and lifted her in the air, spinning to deposit her on the bed. She pulled Ann’s jeans from her legs, tossing them behind her; giggling, Ann tugged off her own shirt and bra, reaching up as Anne descended on her.

“I missed you,” Anne said into her neck.

“We spent all day together,” Ann sighed as warm hands found her hips and lips pressed against her clavicle. 

“Not all day,” Anne purred, focusing her attention on Ann’s breasts. “We spent about five hours apart. It was torture.”

Ann’s breathless laugh turned into a moan as Anne’s mouth wrapped around her nipple. Hands tangled in her hair, Anne laved and sucked and teased. Ann whimpered softly as Anne shifted to take her other breast in her mouth; she hooked her feet behind Anne’s back, hips rolling gently into Anne’s stomach. Anne hadn’t been exaggerating when she told her wife she’d missed her; she had. True, they’d had more time together than they did during the week, but she always felt she had to be so careful when Ann’s back was out. Usually it didn’t affect her like this, didn’t build this storm of need and desire and desperation in her gut. Maybe it was residual desire from the previous night. Maybe the solidification of their family was a factor. Maybe she was just horny as hell.

“Pony,” Ann moaned, and Anne returned to the task at hand. She moved across Ann’s belly, along her ribs, over her hips. “Don’t tease.”

“You said you wanted it to take more than twenty minutes,” Anne purred as she pulled Ann’s panties down her legs. “Let me take my time, darling.”

Ann huffed in frustration, but she closed her eyes. Anne kissed her once more, retracing her path down that increasingly flushed body. Settling on her belly, she lifted Ann’s legs over her shoulders, relishing the sharp press of her heels between her shoulder blades. Starting slow, she traced her tongue through Ann’s arousal, drawing a sigh of relief from above. Anne probed her entrance, humming at the heady flavor that was so uniquely Ann. She drew lazy circles and figure-eights over her clit, and refused to heed Ann’s bucking hips, her clenching hands, her mumbling lips. 

“Pony,” Ann whispered, “come on, please.”

Slowly, Anne moved faster, digging her hands into Ann’s hips. She closed her lips around her clit, sucking, humming, devouring. Ann’s whines got higher, her thighs tensing around Anne’s ears. Finally she froze for one moment, before collapsing into a mumbling, trembling release. Anne eased her down gently, lifted her legs from her shoulders, kissed her sensitive clit, then her belly, then her sternum, then her lips. 

“Worth the wait?” Anne purred, flopping down beside her and tracing her hand over Ann’s bare stomach.

“Heavens, yes,” Ann sighed, turning onto her side, tucking a strand of hair behind Anne’s ear. “Oh, I do love you, my Pony.”

Anne grinned, pressing their lips together quickly. She hopped to her feet, popping open the button to her jeans. Ann scrambled to her knees and tugged at her shirt; laughing, they got it over Anne’s head as she stomped her feet out of her jeans. Ann hooked her fingers in Anne’s waistband.

“You’re right, Pony; I did get rid of some of your boxers.”

“I knew it.” Anne grinned and shook her head.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Ann whispered. Anne nodded indulgently. “I like these little shorts because of the way they make your _butt_ look.”

Anne laughed and pressed her backward. She twisted out of her sports bra before crawling over her wife, catching her lips in a deep kiss. Ann wrapped her arms and legs around her, and Anne lost herself to the meeting of their skin, the synchronized beating of their hearts. 

Which is probably how Ann managed to flip her onto her back.

“Adney!” Anne grinned.

Ann smiled playfully, her eyes dancing with mischief and her blonde hair falling like a curtain around them. Her hands on that narrow waist, she rolled her hips against Ann’s as their lips met again and again. Ann broke away, panting lightly and scooting down to pull Anne’s boxer-briefs down her legs.

“Oh, Pony,” Ann purred, pressing her lips to every inch of Anne’s calves and thighs. “I can’t tell you how badly I want you.”

Anne hummed, licking her lips as Ann’s kisses lit tiny fires across her belly, her ribs, her collarbones. Ann sucked the skin along her neck and the underside of her jaw before reconnecting with Anne’s lips. Anne jolted at the first swipe to her aching clit. Straddling one of her thighs, Ann rolled her hips gently as she stroked. Anne relaxed into the sheets, her hands trailing absently over Ann’s slick back. She stretched her neck to the side, relishing the hungry press of Ann’s lips to her neck. 

“Adney,” she sighed, lifting her hips into Ann’s touch, “yes, darling, unh, ye-“

Ann cut her off with a kiss, her hand still working furiously between her legs. 

“Quiet, Pony,” she breathed in her ear, “Marian will hear.”

“God,” Anne groaned, feeling her release inch just out of her grasp, “do _not_ talk about Marian right now.”

“What do you want me to talk about, Pony?” Ann purred. “How wet you are? How good you feel?” Anne’s release was lapping at her feet again, rising steadily. “How much I love you? How gorgeous you are? How good your butt looks in those shorts?”

Anne laughed, feeling her thighs tensing and her stomach clenching as the first wave crested over her. 

“Oh, how I love to watch you come,” Ann purred; “God, Pony, I love you.”

Anne stretched taut, allowing Ann’s gentle ministrations to coax the last of her release from her. She sighed back into the sheets and accepted Ann’s light kisses along her jaw. Just as she reached out for her, Ann slipped out of bed and padded to the bathroom. Groaning, Anne heaved herself upright and chased after her, wrapping her arms around Ann’s middle and lifting her into the air. Ann laughed, her feet kicking helplessly in front of her as Anne carted her back toward the bedroom.

“Wait - Pony - my teeth,” Ann gasped through her laughter. With another groan, Anne spun around and deposited her at the bathroom sink. “Thank you.”

They completed their nightly rituals silently; Anne marveled at the creams and lotions Ann could find to slather on her pale skin. She ended up leaning against the doorframe, drinking in the delectable sight of her naked wife puttering around the bathroom. After what felt like an eternity, Ann exhaled and turned to her. 

“Ready,” she smiled.

Rolling her eyes, Anne bent and tossed Ann over her shoulder, striding purposefully back to their bed. She deposited Ann gently, and they pulled the sheets around them. The heady urgency of earlier was gone, now just a simmering desire passing between them as their lips met in languid, minty kisses. Anne found herself below her young wife again, beneath the heavy covers, their legs slipping together. For a few moments, Ann rolled her hips against Anne’s thigh as they kissed and caressed and sighed, but then she fell forward onto Anne’s chest.

“Adney?” Anne stretched her neck, trying to catch Ann’s eye.

“I don’t know how you do it,” Ann panted.

“Do what?”

“Be on top.” Ann rolled onto her back. “It’s killing work.”

Anne barked out a full-bodied laugh before swinging her leg over Ann’s lap and settling in her rightful spot. Her lips found Ann’s pulse point, her hands trailing down between her legs.

“You see, my darling Adney, it takes practice,” she purred, slipping into Ann’s warm center. “Practice.” She pulled back. “Practice.” She thrust in. “Practice.” She pulled back. “Practice,” she continued in this rhythm. “Makes. Perfect. So, if you’d like,” she ground her hips into Ann’s thigh, “we can try again another time.”

“Yes, Pony,” Ann sighed, her hands wrapping around Anne’s hips.

“But really,” Anne panted, speeding up her thrusts, “I rather like the way - unh - the way we are.”

“Oh, yes,” Ann whimpered, “me too, me too.”

Anne nipped lightly at Ann’s jugular, sucked at the skin along her clavicle, pressed her lips to the column of her throat. Her hand moved faster, harder, deeper, even as she chased her own release against Ann’s firm thigh. It wasn’t long before Ann’s back arched into her, her soft mumblings filling the room as she shuddered through her climax. Anne moved her hips furiously over Ann’s tensed thigh, feeling that familiar warmth spreading into her gut. She choked out a moan as her release washed over her, falling forward onto Ann’s slick body. They laid like that for a few long moments before Anne rolled onto her back and panted at the ceiling. She made to get up for their nightclothes, but Ann caught her arm.

“Stay with me,” she said, still breathless.

“I was getting our pajamas.”

“Just stay like this,” Ann rolled onto her side and wrapped her naked body around Anne’s side. “It’s so hot under these blankets anyway.”

Anne chuckled and reached for their book. Kissing that blonde head, she found their spot from last night. She only got through a few paragraphs before Ann’s gentle snores lulled her to sleep, one arm holding the book, the other wrapped around that confounding, magical, incredible, adorable woman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Boy, did I have a lot of fun writing this one. 
> 
> I am by no means a church expert, but I'm basing the service Anne and Aunt Anne go to on the Morning Prayer services I've been to in Episcopal churches in the US. Forgive my dumb American-ness, if it's not totally accurate. 
> 
> The Marian/Ann(e) scene was so so fun to write; I really hope y'all enjoy it too. I think at first it could seem a little out-of-character, but I have a three-pronged defense. First, these ladies have been living together for a few months now, part of that under a lockdown, so they've gotten close more quickly than they might under normal circumstances. Second, I think it's boring to stick to the same tropes over and over (e.g. Ann is shy, Anne is annoyed with Marian, etc.). Like, they've grown so much over the last fifty chapters, why _can't_ they joke and tease about Marian getting it in? And third, I don't really believe in "muses" and things like that, but I do think writing comes easily when it's true to the characters and the story. And that whole scene flowed out of me all at once. So. 
> 
> The ending based on "a tolerable kiss last night - weight of two blankets and quilts rather much - she a little exhausted and said 'it is killing work'" October 14, 1834. HA yes, Ann, it is killing work. Please appreciate Pony's efforts more in the future. 
> 
> Anyway, thank you so much! Looking forward to hearing your thoughts!


	13. Who The Hell Are You?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> posting from my PHONE (long story), please excuse typos. If they’re hella egregious, let me know so I can fix ‘em ☺️

“Pic, I’m serious. You’ve got to stop.”

Ann paused at the sound of her wife’s low voice from behind the cracked door. Thomas had dropped her off at the university so that Ann could meet her wife after work; they were going to have dinner in town, then take the sleeper tonight to visit Elizabeth for the mid-term break. Thomas had hardly finished loading her bags into Anne’s Jeep before Ann had hurried up the stairs of the Classics building. She was buzzing with excitement, but Anne’s serious tone stopped her in her tracks. 

“Just hear me out,” an unfamiliar voice said, “really, we could -”

“It’s gone far enough,” Anne said firmly. “You’ve got to stop - I’m about to get married, Pic, this can’t go on anymore.” 

“But we -”

“It’s not appropriate, and we could both get in serious trouble. You’re not exactly subtle, and -” Anne sighed, her voice getting a little softer. “Sit down. Come on. You’re - don’t do that.”

“Get your hands off my wife!” Ann cried, kicking the door wide open.

Inside Anne’s dark office, the professor herself sat behind her imposing desk. Ann barely had a chance to appreciate how handsome she was with her sleeves rolled up, tie loose, the dim light of the evening streaming in behind her; well, she couldn’t exactly ignore it, could she? But then, at the corner of Anne’s desk, was an androgynous person with short auburn hair. Her dark combat boots and red flannel shirt were dangerously close to Ann’s Pony. Ann couldn’t stop herself. 

“Who the hell are you?”

“Ann, this is my student, Frances Pickford. Pic, this is my _wife_ , Ann Walker - uh Ann Walker Lister.”

Ann’s rage was momentarily lightened by that delicious trio of words, remembering that Anne had told her classes they were already married, but this “Pic” still wasn’t moving. Anne cleared her throat loudly.

“Pic, you’d better go.”

“Dr. Lister, I -” Pic was gathering her bag from the chair across from Anne’s desk.

“Take this,” Anne held out a business card, “go down to London and buy yourself a book, hmmm? Tell them Lister sent you. And then -”

“Get out!” Ann exclaimed. “Frances, Pic, whoever you are - get out of here. Go home.” 

She crossed purposefully to stand next to Anne, putting her hand possessively on the back of Anne’s chair. The girl scurried out of the room, closing the door behind. Ann wheeled on her wife.

“ _What_ is going on?”

“It’s nothing,” Anne said dismissively, reaching for her messenger bag. Ann grabbed her arm.

“It’s not. What was that child doing in here? You said you had meetings.”

“I did,” Anne said genuinely. “I was just answering a few emails before the break.”

“With a twenty year old girl? What was it that had ‘gone far enough?’” She threw Anne’s words back at her.  
“Adney,” Anne sighed, “come here.” She patted her lap invitingly. Ann stepped backward. “Okay. Pic has a very serious crush on me, and I told her at the start of this week to roll it back. She spent the last five days trying to - I don’t know, convince me? I guess? I think she’s got the picture now.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because it’s stupid, Adney.” Anne held out her hand, reaching out for her, even as Ann remained stockstill. “I’m sorry. I should have mentioned. But really, darling, I stop thinking about Frances Pickford the moment I leave this place. When I’m home, all I think about is you. Hell, most of the time all I think about is you. Okay?”

Ann nodded mutely, feeling the sting of Anne’s keeping this from her. 

“What can I do to convince you?”

Ann considered. On the one hand, sure, she’d been taken by surprise. Anne should have mentioned it earlier. On the other, they’d spent so much time planning their trip this week that she did understand how it could have slipped Anne’s mind. She didn’t doubt Anne’s fidelity, not in a real way. Still, though, she wanted to remind her just who it was she was marrying.

“Clear all that shit off your desk.”

“What?” Anne laughed.

“I think you heard me.”

“Okay,” Anne laughed and started pushing things into the drawers of her desk. Ann sucked her teeth impatiently, and Anne started knocking things to the floor. Finally, the dark wood surface was clear. “What now?”

Ann waggled her eyebrows and threw her gaze meaningfully from Anne to the desk. Brow furrowed, Anne stood and perched on the short edge of the desk, her legs spread and stretched in front of her. Ann sauntered over, parking herself between Ann’s legs and draping her arms around her neck.

“Who do you belong to?” Ann asked softly.

“You, of course,” Anne grinned, settling her hands easily on Ann’s hips. 

Not good enough, Ann thought. She’s too calm.

“Say it,” Ann dared. 

Anne chuckled, shook her head, but Ann stayed firm. 

“I belong to you, darling, you know that.”

With one hand, she traced the line of Anne’s collar, down her tie, twisting the fabric in her hand. She tugged gently. Anne’s eyes widened.

“Say it again.”

“I belong to you,” Anne husked.

“Who?” Ann threaded her fingers in the hair at the back of Anne’s neck.

“Ann Walker.”

“All together now.”

Picking up on the game, Anne leaned forward, her face less than a centimeter from Ann’s. Her breath was hot against Ann’s skin as she spoke.

“I belong to Ann Walker. No one else. Every second. Every day.” Her lips ghosted over Ann’s. “I, Anne Lister, belong to you, Ann Walker.” 

For one glorious, agonizing beat, they were suspended in space. Eyes locked together. Anne’s hands tight around her hips. Anne’s tie and hair wrapped around her fingers. The musky scent of Anne’s cologne. The warmth of their bodies. Anne raised a single eyebrow.

Ann crashed their lips together, thrusting her tongue into Anne’s mouth. It was hot and fiery and everything she needed. Anne’s strong hands gripped her hips, lifting her into her lap. Ann straddled her easily, losing herself to the savage press of their bodies, the frantic meeting of their lips. After a few blissful moments, Anne hooked her hands under Ann’s legs and stood. 

“Come here,” Anne growled, carrying her to the door.  
Wrapping her legs around Anne’s waist, Ann moaned as her back hit the cool wood. Anne attacked her neck, sucking and biting and soothing; Ann bit her lip as she heard the lock click. She took Anne’s head in her hands, forcing her to meet her gaze. Anne’s pupils were blown, her hair mussed, her cheeks flushed. Ann kissed her hard, then pulled away quickly.

“On the desk.”

Anne opened her mouth, then closed it. She carried Ann dutifully back to the desk, sitting on the edge. Biting her lip, Ann nudged her shoulder until she laid back; Ann sat up straight, considering her next move. Watching her under lidded eyes, Anne slipped under her dress, kneading her thighs. The air was thick with tension, pulsing with anticipation. 

“Let me prove it to you,” Anne whispered. 

Ann smiled, shaking her head as she lowered herself to catch Anne’s lips. Every time Anne tried to deepen the kiss, Ann pulled away. With a groan, Anne flopped back against the hard wood, letting her arms dangle over the sides of the desk. Total surrender. Ann grinned.

“I’m yours,” Anne sighed. “Do what you will. But do it quickly or I'll lose my mind.”

Ann laughed and brought their lips together, shifting her hips to straddle one of Anne’s thighs. Balancing on her forearm, she traced her hand along Anne’s firm stomach, finding the cool buckle of her belt. She fumbled only for a moment before wrenching it open, flicking open the button and zipper. They sighed in unison as Ann’s fingertips slipped into pale blue boxers; those strong hands reached out again, one on Ann’s hip, the other sliding behind her neck to bring their lips together. With gentle, slow strokes, she found Anne’s clit, working in the easy circles she knew made her wife crazy. Breaking the kiss, Ann buried her face in the crook of Anne’s neck, pressing her lips to every inch of exposed skin she could reach.

“Anne Lister,” she breathed in her ear, “you’re mine. Do you know that?”

Anne nodded, whining softly as Ann sped up between her legs. 

“Don’t forget again,” Ann whispered, closing her teeth around Anne’s earlobe. “I’ll have to punish you.”  
Anne whimpered, eyes closed tightly shut. Oh, how Ann loved this version of her wife. Desperate, needy, totally at her mercy. Sweat gathered at her hairline. Her hands tight around Ann’s hip and shoulder. Her hips lifting, begging. Mindful of the time, Ann worked faster, her knowing fingers strumming Anne’s clit until she felt those powerful thighs tensing. Then she pulled away.

“Adney,” Anne gasped.

“Say it.”

“What? What? Say what?” Anne panted, her hips bucking fruitlessly.

“Say you’re mine,” Ann grinned.

“I’m yours, fuck, Ann, please, I’m -”

Anne let out a long, low moan, her hips frozen midair. Pressing her lips to her neck, Ann pressed harder, faster, until Anne’s hips were juddering, her entire body trembling. Grinning, Ann eased her down, then pulled away and held out her wet hand. Anne’s eyes slid open, her chest still heaving. Ann wiggled her fingers. 

“How are you so hot?” They said in unison, then laughed.

“You always say that, Pony,” Ann breathed, slipping her fingers between Anne’s lips. “It’s very sweet.” She hummed as Anne sucked lightly, her skilled tongue running along and between her fingers; pulling away with a “pop,” Ann shook her head. “We’d better go.”

“What?” Anne sat up sharply.

“We’ll miss our train,” Ann said with a shrug as she got to her feet. 

“Come on,” Anne groaned, “you have to - I have to have you. I can’t - come on, darling.”

“If we’re going to eat before we leave,” Ann shrugged, “we need to go, like, right now.”

“I _do_ need to eat,” Anne purred, hopping to the floor and wrapping Ann in her arms, “and I’m going to go crazy if I can’t taste you this instant.”

“Pony,” Ann laughed. 

“I mean it,” Anne husked, pressing their bodies flush. “Please, darling. Let me show you what you mean to me.”

Ann relented, allowing Anne to steer her to the desk; blood pounded in her ears as she hopped up onto it, as Anne pushed her legs apart, as that dark head descended until Anne was knelt between her legs. Shifting forward, Ann sighed as Anne pushed her dress up around her waist, hooking her fingers in the waistband of her panties. 

“Ann Walker,” she purred, “the things I’d like to do to you.”

“Big talk,” Ann teased, breathless as Anne’s lips pressed to the insides of her thighs. She writhed against the desk as Anne worked her way to her center.

“You. Are. Every. Single. Thing. To. Me.” She ran her tongue through Ann’s arousal. “Believe me.” Ann sighed as her hot breath blew across her core. “There is no one else. There never could be.” 

Ann whined, her head spinning. She wanted to drown in Anne’s words, her low voice, her sweet reassurances. But with every pass to her clit, she was growing more desperate. Finally, she grasped the back of Anne’s head, holding her between her legs; she moaned as she felt Anne’s chuckle reverberate over her center. 

“Come on, Pony,” she moaned as Anne teased her folds. “Please - unh, yes.”

Anne slipped a single finger inside, and Ann lifted her hips with a sigh. She was overwhelmed by Anne’s soft lips on her clit, her curling finger inside, her steady hand on her hip. Anne was worshipping her, consuming her, possessing her. The truth, Ann knew, was that she belonged to Anne just as much as Anne did to her. She felt it through the pressure on her clit, the filling of her center, the demanding grip on her hip. 

“Ann Walker,” Anne growled, stretching her with another finger, “I cannot get enough of you.”

Ann gasped as Anne vaulted onto the desk above her, crashing their lips together and driving her hand faster, harder. Moaning at the taste of herself on Anne’s lips, Ann wrapped her arms around that strong back, needing her closer; she lifted her hips, needing her deeper. Anne’s breath was hot against her neck, her thumb slipping against her clit, her fingers curling and coaxing and caressing. 

“Pony,” Ann cried out, feeling the first wave of pleasure crash into her. “Yes, yes, yes.”

Her back arched against the rigid desk, but she hardly noticed. Warmth spread to the top of her head and the soles of her feet; her body shook as Anne eased her through wave after wave. Anne was everywhere, everything, all of it. 

With a sigh, she sagged backward, missing Anne as soon as she pulled away. She felt Anne’s tongue move gingerly between her legs, sending aftershocks through her body.

“Oh, God, Pony.”

“Oh, God, Adney,” Anne teased.

Ann opened her eyes to see Anne stuffing her panties into her pocket. She chuckled, holding her hands out; Anne took them and pulled her gently upright. 

“You’ve got a thing for my pants.”

“A small reminder,” Anne grinned as her hands found Ann’s waist again, “of the woman I’m lucky enough to call mine.”

“A dirty reminder,” Ann teased, straightening Anne’s tie.

“What else?” 

Ann tilted her chin, and Anne brought their lips together gently. Pulling away, Ann felt the dopiest smile spread across her own face.

“You are, aren’t you?”

“What?” Ann tilted her head.

“You’re mine,” Anne said, insecurity creeping into her voice.

“Poor Pony.” Ann tucked her dark hair behind her ear. “Don’t you know by now? I’ve always been yours. I’ve never been anyone’s but yours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Felt a bit out of sorts all day, and this chapter was slow-going, even though I knew what I wanted to do with it. Apologies it’s shorter than the last few.
> 
> Also, I can see how, realistically, Ann might have more of an issue with Anne not telling her about Pic and they might have a bigger fight about it. But, as I said, the words didn’t come easily today, so I glossed over it. Perhaps we’ll revisit when I’m back on my game. 
> 
> Off to Scotland next! Going to be very fun, I hope.
> 
> Thank you for reading and your lovely comments! Hope everyone is staying safe🥰


	14. Midnight Train to Inverness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the train here is a mix of the actual sleeper train in real life, the one from the television show "Run" (starring Merritt Weaver, go watch), and my own imagination. So it may deviate from a real train, but, uh, that's kind of not the point. Ya know?  
> Filth incoming

The Double Room Ann booked was actually nicer than Anne had anticipated. It was tiny, no doubt about that, but she’d been picturing a narrow cot or bunkbeds or something. This was a decently sized double bed, admittedly jammed into the room and surrounded on three sides by the walls, but it would certainly suit for one night. There was a tiny closet of a toilet on the far side, a sink in between the two, with a square window above. It was pitch dark outside. Ann was already tugging her arm excitedly.

“What do you think, Pony?” Ann smiled, tossing their bags onto the bed. She ran her hands under Anne’s collar, pressing her soft body into Anne’s. “Think we’ll be comfortable?”

“Oh yes,” Anne leaned back against the door, “I think this will do nicely.”

“Are you tired?”

Truthfully, Anne had been tired. It was a long day, overall, and the fatigue had started to set in as they ate dinner. She wondered if they should’ve gone home, at least for a little while, rather than stay out all evening. Now, however, she was revitalized. She hooked her hands under Ann’s legs and lifted her up.

“Not at all,” she purred.

“Oh, fuck!” Ann’s head connected with the ceiling.

“Shit, sorry, sorry,” Anne lowered her immediately. She rubbed Ann’s head. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” Ann pouted. Anne kissed the crown of her head. They swayed together for a beat. “I’m excited for you to meet Elizabeth.”

“I am too,” Anne said genuinely, holding Ann to her chest. “I hope I won’t embarrass you.”

“Never.”

Anne grinned, resting her chin on Ann’s head for a moment. She pulled back, her arms still wrapped around Ann’s waist. Ann’s face shone with excitement. She was so delighted and smiley and sweet that Anne had no choice but to kiss her. They started slow, gentle, almost tentative, hands tangling in hair and kneading hips. Ann tilted her head and deepened the kiss; Anne took a step forward, pressing Ann backward. Another step. Ann’s hands wrapped around her collar. Another step. She caught Ann’s bottom lip between her teeth.

“Pony,” Ann breathed. Grinning, Anne pressed her hips against Ann’s. “Pony,” Ann whined. She pressed her lips to Ann’s pulse point, pleased with how quickly her wife was reduced to pleading. She pressed her hips harder. “Pony, seriously, wait.”

“What?” Anne pulled away, confused.

“This sink,” Ann took a step forward. “It’s, like, digging into my back.”

“Oh, sorry.” Anne winced and rubbed the back of her neck; she wasn’t exactly being smooth, was she? “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Ann smiled, tugging Anne’s tie gently. The train jolted as they started to move. “Have you ever done it on a train?”

“Done what?” Anne asked innocently, inhaling deeply as Ann unknotted her tie, holding the two sides in her hands.

Ann clicked her tongue and pulled on Anne’s tie, bringing their lips together fiercely. Their passion bubbled to the surface, all roaming hands and rolling hips; Anne slipped her hands under Ann’s dress, taking her round ass in her hands and pulling their hips flush. Ann’s panties were still in her pocket, and the thought alone thrilled her. Not to mention all that bare skin radiating heat, begging for Anne’s hands. Ann pushed her gently backward, and Anne fell onto the bed.

“Shit!”

Her back hit the sharp corners of their suitcases, still piled on the bed. She rolled over, wedging herself between the bags and the wall at the foot of the bed. Ann laughed and flopped down near the head of the bed. They laid back, laughing at the ceiling.

“Oh, God,” Anne groaned, “we need to watch where we’re going.”

“I know,” Ann laughed. “We’re going to break our necks like this.”

Stretching her arm out, Anne laughed, too; Ann took her hand, their fingers interlacing. She swung their connected hands for a moment, then heaved herself upright, shoving the bags into the tiny area under the bed. Ann’s suitcase stuck out, so she made a mental note to watch her step when she crawled out. 

“Wait,” Ann sat up, “get the strap. It’s in my bag.”

“Yeah?” Anne grinned.

“I mean, just so we have it,” Ann shrugged. “In case. If we need it.”

“Right,” Anne said seriously, unzipping the bag, “you never know.”

“Could be an emergency.”

“Sure,” Anne took out the strap and harness, dropping it in the sink for lack of another surface. She toed off her brogues and slipped Ann's shoes from her feet. With a gentle smile, she cradled Ann’s face in her hands, dropping to her knees on the bed and bringing their lips together. “God, I want you so much.”

Ann hummed, untucking Anne’s shirt from her trousers. Anne slipped her tongue past Ann’s parted lips, kissing her hungrily as desire built in her gut. She slid one hand under Ann’s skirt, tracing between her legs and moaning at the wetness that greeted her. Ann’s hands fumbled over her belt and zipper, wrenching her trousers open. Anne bit her lip and pulled away.

“We have all night, Adney.”

“I need you,” Ann breathed, her chest already heaving. Anne couldn’t help noticing the way her breasts moved, the fabric of her dress stretched tightly across them. She licked her lips. “It doesn’t help when you look at me like that.”

“Like what?” Anne purred, resuming her gentle, even strokes through Ann’s arousal.

“Like you want to rip me apart.”

“Oh, you’re much too pretty for that.” Anne pressed her lips softly to Ann’s pulse point, inhaling that exquisite scent that lived in the crook of her neck. 

Ann exhaled, a soft whine, and Anne teased her entrance. Small hands gripped her shoulders, and Anne grinned into her neck, wrapping her free arm around Ann’s waist. Holding her close, she thrust gently inside, closing her eyes as Ann’s warmth surrounded her fingers. Ann slumped forward, resting her head on Anne’s shoulder. 

“Yes, baby,” Anne soothed, pressing the heel of her hand against Ann’s clit as she started a steady rhythm. “You feel so good, Adney.”

Ann moaned, nodding into Anne’s shoulder, and Anne sped up incrementally. Their small cabin was filled with the sounds of their lovemaking: Ann’s soft moans, her own, deeper hums, the slick sound of their skin meeting. The hands on her shoulders tightened, and Anne could feel her wife teetering on the edge. She had just sunk her teeth into the juncture of Ann’s neck and shoulder when they were interrupted by a knock at the door.

“What?” Ann gasped. 

Anne pulled away quickly, scrambling to the floor and flinging the door open. A cheery middle-aged woman in a uniform greeted her. Anne gaped at her.

“Tickets?” The woman asked in a friendly voice.

“Oh, uh, hold on,” Anne turned, holding the door open with her foot. “Ann, where are the -?” 

And then, as if leaving her body, Anne saw what the ticket-taker must be seeing. Herself: trousers open, tie loose around her neck, shirt untucked on one side, hair undoubtedly mussed. Her young wife: hair at all angles, skin flushed, chest heaving, kneeling on the bed with lips parted and brow furrowed. And then, as she scanned the room for their tickets, she saw it: the strap. Erect in its harness, sitting proudly in the sink. She closed her eyes.

“Here we are,” she said calmly as she turned back to the woman, as if there wasn’t a pink silicone cock directly behind her. She attempted to look casual, holding her trousers together as the woman punched their tickets. 

“Here you are indeed,” she said with a smile. “Have a good night.” She winked as Anne closed the door.

“Oh my _God_ ,” Anne flopped onto the bed.

Ann laughed and scooted next to her, trailing her index finger absentmindedly across Anne’s chest. 

“D’you think she could tell?” 

“Yes,” Anne laughed. “Absolutely, Mrs. Lister. We might as well have written ‘we’re in the middle of a shag’ on the tickets.”

Ann laughed, shaking her head. Anne sighed happily, wrapping her hand around Ann’s and pressing her lips to her knuckles. She never grew tired of the sight of that onyx ring on her finger. Her mind turned to their destination, and a note of anxiety twisted in her chest. 

“Do you think Elizabeth will like me?” She asked quietly.

“Of course,” Ann replied easily. “You’ve talked to her plenty of times.”

“It’s different in person.”

“Yes, it is, and she’s going to love you even more.”

Anne hummed noncommittally. 

“The real question, Dr. Lister, is how you are going to enjoy spending a week with three small children.”

“I love children,” Anne said evenly.

“You’re afraid of them,” Ann teased.

“I am not!”

“You kind of are,” Ann grinned, easing open the buttons to her shirt. “You get so nervous.”

“I do not,” Anne protested.

“Yes you do.” Ann pressed her lips to the hollow of her throat. “We saw those boys in the park last week, and their ball landed right at your feet. You were sweating.”

“It was warm.”

“Right,” Ann purred, slipping to the floor and turning around, looking over her shoulder and gesturing at her zipper. “The Hardcastles’ toddler makes you stutter.”

“He does not!” Anne got up on her knees and eased the zipper to Ann’s dress down. She pressed her lips to the base of Ann’s neck, the knob where her spine began. “I have very nice chats with Henry when I see him.”

“He’s not a toddler,” Ann breathed as Anne unclasped her bra, easing it and her dress from her shoulders. She turned to her wife; Anne inhaled deeply, arousal rushing between her legs at the sight of her nude form. “But I don’t want to talk about the Hardcastles right now, do you?”

“No fucking way,” Anne grinned, grabbing Ann’s face and crashing their lips together.

Ann pushed her shirt from her shoulders, running her hands along Anne’s back. Anne was still kneeling on the bed so she wrapped her hands around Ann’s thighs and lifted her up, pivoting to deposit her onto the bed. Ann giggled as her back hit the sheets, spreading her legs and lifting her arms. Grinning, Anne descended into her embrace; they moaned in unison as their slick bellies pressed together. Ann’s fingers dug into her back desperately. Anne took mercy on her, snaking a hand between them and resuming her earlier pace.

“Pony,” came the soft moan, and Anne focused on bringing her wife over the edge urgently. With every stroke, the heel of her hand found Ann’s clit, the curl of her fingers massaging the spongy spot on Ann’s inner walls. It barely took more than an instant, and Ann was shuddering, her hips juddering under Anne’s skilled touch. Easing her down slowly, Anne sucked gently at her neck until she stilled.

“Fuck,” she sighed, her arms falling to the sheets. 

Anne sat back on her heels, aware of the stark figure she cut in her sports bra, trousers open, belt dangling around her hips. She pulled her hair back, restraining it with the black hairtie she kept on her wrist. Ann propped herself on her elbows, breathing heavily and running her eyes over Anne’s body. Biting her lip, Ann hooked her fingers in the front of her boxer-briefs. 

“Oh, Pony, I do love you.”

“Tell me that sometime when you didn’t just come,” Anne teased.

“Don’t I tell you all the time?” Worry clouded her eyes and voice. 

“Yes, baby,” Anne leaned down to kiss her gently. “You do.”

Swinging her legs to the floor, she twisted out of her bra and shucked her trousers. A pale leg wrapped around the backs of her knees, urging her closer. Anne laughed, raising her eyebrows in question. 

“Come back here,” Ann whined.

“Give me two seconds,” Anne admonished, wiggling out of her shorts. “You packed this strap for a reason.”

“I guess I did.”

“Are you intending to use this at your sister’s house?”

“Maybe,” Ann said coquettishly.

“Dirty girl,” Anne purred, tightening the harness around her hips. 

“You love it.” That tiny grin appeared on Ann’s face, the one that usually signaled something filthy.

“I do.” Anne climbed back into bed, hooking her hands under pale knees and pulling Ann to her. “I definitely do.” 

“I wonder,” Ann curled upward, wrapping her arms around Anne’s neck, “if you could hold me up while we do this.”

“You know I can.” 

“On a moving train?”

“Is that a challenge?” Anne growled, her hands tightening around Ann’s legs. 

“What if it is?”

“Well, you know I can’t resist a challenge.”

Ann grinned and tilted her chin. Anne brought their lips together fiercely, pressing their chests together. An idea formed in her mind, and she broke away.

“Pony,” Ann whined, watching Anne root through her suitcase. “What are you doing?”

“I’m preparing for this challenge.” 

She held out the bottle of lubricant and winked. Ann laughed and took it from her. Putting one hand on Ann's slim shoulder, Anne grabbed one foot behind her back, stretching her quads. Ann laughed as she watched her switch feet, then drop into a lunge.

“Pony!”

“I’m going to do it right.” She stretched her biceps. “You seem to doubt my abilities.” She cracked her neck. “I should hate to fall short.”

“Pony! Get in this bed.” Ann was rolling the bottle in her hands to warm it.

“Are you ready?” Anne climbed in, holding out her hand; Ann squirted a quantity of lubricant into it. They both watched Anne’s strong, broad hand wrap around the strap and slowly coat it. “Well,” Anne looked up, “are you?”

“God, Pony, yes.” 

With a grin, Anne wrapped her arms around Ann’s lower thighs. If she was going to do this, it would take conviction. No hesitation. Pale arms circled Anne’s back, hands gripping her shoulders, holding on for dear life. Anne kissed her once, quickly, then lifted her up and slid inside her wet core in one fluid motion. 

Ann’s back hit the wall. They both moaned as sharp hips met the inside of pale thighs. Anne kissed her gently, allowing her wife a few moments to adjust to the sensation of being filled so quickly, so fully, so deeply. Breaking away, she studied her flushed face, her heaving breasts, the slow smile of pleasure spreading across her delicate features.

“Alright?” She husked, adjusting her knees below her. 

“Yes,” Ann sighed. 

Anne eased her hips back slowly, drawing a soft moan from her wife. She pushed forward just as slowly, eliciting another moan, this one louder, deeper. She continued at this pace for a few moments, her hands flexing in Ann’s supple thighs. Ann’s head was thrown back, her blonde curls spread across her shoulders; unable to resist, Anne pressed her lips to her neck, her jaw, her clavicle. 

“Faster,” Ann sighed.

Anne complied, slowly increasing the pace of her thrusts. The tiny cabin was filled with the sharp gasps of her wife and the slick slap of their skin meeting, underscored by Anne’s occasional grunt of effort. 

“Harder,” Ann whined.

Now, Ann was well and truly in for it. Granted permission, Anne drove into her wife furiously, pressing her into the wall, gently vibrating from the train’s movements. Ann called out loudly now, no concern for being overheard, her high-pitched cries coming in time with Anne’s frantic ruts. Every muscle in her body burned, but Anne didn’t even notice. She was lost to the merciless pistoning of her own hips, the relentless desire to send Ann into a wild, screaming release. She bit into her neck, sucked harshly at the skin of her chest, dug her fingers into her creamy thighs. 

“Pony, yes,” Ann was nearly screaming now. Anne had a passing worry for the neighboring cabin. “Fuck, yes, yes.”

She needed more, and Anne knew it. Her legs tightened around Anne’s hips, her heels digging into Anne’s back, trying to take her deeper. Kissing and biting her way up Ann’s flushed, slick neck, Anne reached her ear, tugging at her earlobe with her teeth.

“Touch yourself, Adney,” Anne ordered. Ann complied, one shaky hand finding her clit and rubbing furiously. “That’s right,” Anne growled as she pounded into her; “you love this don’t you? My cock splitting you in two?” Ann cried out. “Look at you. Little Ann Walker. Getting herself off on my cock.” Ann’s center clenched, but Anne wasn’t done with her yet. “Dirty girl, Miss Walker, and I think you like that. Don’t you?”

“Yes,” Ann gasped, her body shaking through her climax. “Yes, yes, yes.”

Anne pressed her into the wall, shifting to snake one hand between them and take over stroking Ann’s clit. The moans dripping from Ann’s lip were positively filthy now, and Anne never wanted them to end. Ann called out nonsense and half-words and desperation, her body trembling in Anne’s arms until, finally, she sagged, spent. Anne stilled her own movements, lowering Ann gently to the bed before easing the strap out. Rather worn out herself, Anne felt backwards, her head at the foot of the bed, tugging off the harness with one tired arm. 

Anne’s clit ached, desperate to be touched, and her hand trailed down her stomach almost by reflex. But she didn’t do that anymore, she reminded herself. She waited for Ann, who was her partner in all things. She shared everything with Ann, every kiss and every night and every orgasm. It was always worth the wait. Twisting her hips uncomfortably, she studied the ceiling of the cabin and tried to focus on the gentle swaying of the train as they hurtled toward Scotland. It was the wee hours now, and they’d arrive early in the morning. No doubt the Sutherlands would expect a full day of activities and getting-to-know-each-other conversations. They’d better sleep soon, Anne thought, or they’d never survive it. Perhaps Ann had already gone to sleep, she worried. Passed out, as she sometimes did. Her gut twisted at the thought of losing Ann’s touch for the night. 

No sooner had she started to mourn, however, than she felt soft lips against her calf. She sighed in relief, spreading her legs. Those soft lips journeyed up to her knee, along her thigh, over her hips, between her ribs, up her sternum, across her collarbones, until finally, blessedly, Ann’s lips met her own. She couldn’t suppress her moan as Ann’s tongue slid into her mouth, nor could she stop her hands from tangling in those golden curls and pulling her impossibly closer. When Ann finally pulled away, Anne craned her neck upward, desperate for more.

“Oh, my, Dr. Lister,” Ann purred, pressing gentle kisses along Anne’s body as she settled between her legs, “I’m going to suck the life right out of you.”

“Ann,” she breathed, still reeling from the filthy, needy sounds that had tumbled from Ann’s innocent lips just minutes ago. How was she already grazing her teeth along Anne’s stomach? 

At the first pass of Ann’s tongue, Anne was lost. She heard a low, almost guttural moan, and she knew it must be hers. The pressure building between her legs was already intense. She bit her lip and grasped Ann’s head tightly, all at once needing her closer and desperate to prolong this pleasure for as long as she could. Of course, Ann knew exactly how to drive her wild. She sucked at her clit, teased her folds, hummed in contentment as she worked; Anne could see pale fingers curling into her hips, holding her steady as she consumed her. 

“Ann!” She cried as her body arched, warm pleasure shooting from her core and pulsing in her veins. “Ann, Ann, Ann,” she repeated, over and over, unable to focus on anything but the release uncoiling itself in her body and the inimitable woman coaxing it from her. 

An intense climax crashed into her, her body buffeted by wave after wave of pleasure. She shuddered and cursed and trembled, collapsing back into the sheets with a final groan. Ann appeared suddenly above her, kissing her deeply; Anne moaned again at the taste of her own arousal. Her wife dropped onto her back next to her.

“Good God,” Anne sighed, turning her head to the side. “Holy shit.”

“Holy shit yourself,” Ann grinned.

“You - when you -” Anne gestured to the wall.

“No, _you_ ,” Ann laughed, “and then -”

“Yeah, exactly,” Anne flopped onto her back. “We are really good at that.”

“Good at what?” Ann laughed again, rolling over to perch her head on Anne’s chest. Her sharp chin dug into Anne’s skin, but she loved it.

“Having sex,” Anne husked. “Shagging.” She kissed her softly. “Fucking.” Another kiss. “Lovemaking.” One more.

“We really are,” Ann whispered.

For a beat, they just stared at each other, all dopey smiles and sappy expressions. In another life, Anne would have been much more cynical about all this postcoital gazing they did. With Ann? She lived for it. Losing herself in those perfectly blue eyes. Matching the rhythm of her heart and the cadence of her breath. Feeling their sweat mingle together and cool on her skin.

“Go take a shower,” Anne suggested.

“I’m tired,” Ann pouted. “Let’s go to sleep.”

“Adney,” Anne stroked her back gently, “in the morning, you won’t want to get up early. We’re getting in around seven.”

“I showered this morning,” Ann huffed.

“And now, my love, you smell like sex.”

“Do I?” Ann’s eyes widened.

“We both do,” Anne laughed. “This whole bloody cabin does. I wouldn’t be surprised if the hallway did too.”

“Elizabeth won’t notice,” Ann said, closing her eyes sleepily.

“She has three kids. She’ll notice.”

“You’re no fun,” Ann sulked, elbowing Anne’s gut as she clambered out of bed.

Anne winked and watched her disappear into the tiny half-closet that passed for a shower. She heard the water run for less than five minutes before Ann reappeared, her dry hair   
piled high on her head. She had a haughty, serious look on her face as she dried her body. 

“I’ve scrubbed my hands and my face and my,” Ann paused, “other areas. I’m going to sleep.”

“Are you cross?” Anne stood and reached for her. Ann dodged her grasp, barely, vaulting into bed. “Don’t be cross, Adney.”

“I’m not cross,” Ann said in her cross voice.

“I’ll be right back.”

Anne stepped into the claustrophobic cubicle and took an equally hurried shower, washing her body frantically. She certainly couldn’t meet Elizabeth smelling of her sister’s arousal, but this shower wasn’t exactly five stars. She cut off the water, sniffed her skin, judged it adequate, and stepped out. Ann was feigning sleep. 

“Why is Adney cross with me?” Anne wondered aloud, rubbing the towel across her skin. “Is it because I’m going to meet her sister and brother-in-law and nieces and nephew? Is it because I just rocked her world so thoroughly up against the wall of a train cabin? Or is it because I suggested she wash off the scent of my come before we slept?”

“Anne!” She sat up quickly, her face flushed and her brow furrowed. “It’s not any of that. Well, it kind of is.”

“What is it?” Anne slipped under the sheets next to her and held out her arms; Ann curled into her as if on instinct. 

“I like going to sleep smelling like you," Ann said shyly.

“Do you?” Anne twirling a strand of blonde hair around her finger.

“Yes. It’s, like, this tangible proof of our connection.”

“Is our being in bed together not proof enough?” Anne teased gently.

“I just like it,” Ann pouted.

“I’m sorry, darling.” Anne kissed the top of her head. “I’m rather nervous to make a bad impression on the Sutherlands.”

“Don’t worry about them,” Ann said sleepily, her leg slipping between Anne’s.

"Are you still cross with me?"

"No," Ann yawned. "You were right. As usual. Which is so annoying."

"Good," Anne chuckled. "What should I wear tomorrow?"

"Stop worrying."

“But I am. I will.” Anne ran her hand up and down the pale arm circling her waist. “I’m so used to trying to hide the proof of - well, I’ve never really done this before.”

“Neither have I.”

“Yeah, and you’re a natural!” Anne laughed. “You’ve got the entire Lister family wrapped around your little finger.”

“I guess I do, don’t I?” 

Anne could feel her smug grin against her skin.

“ _Yes_ , but I imagine it won’t be so easy for me,” Anne admitted. “I don’t want to give your family any reason not to like me.”

“Pony,” Ann propped herself up a bit to meet Anne’s eyeline. “Please. They’re going to love you, because I love you. And because you’re smart and funny and kind and a very interesting person in general. It’s going to be great.”

“Okay,” Anne said warily. 

She wanted to believe her wife, but she couldn’t squash the butterflies in her stomach. Ann kissed her softly twice before settling back against her chest.

“Read to me,” she yawned.

“Our book is in my bag, which is way under this bed.”

“Pony,” Ann groaned, “why didn’t you think of that?”

“Between getting the strap and the tickets and shagging you silly? I can’t imagine how it slipped my mind.”

Ann laughed and pinched her side.

“Tell me a story, then. Something boring. I need your voice.”

“Well,” Anne started, “one time, there was this lonely professor lady. Woman. Ladywoman. And she was all messed up about relationships and love and the future.”

“I think I’ve heard this one,” Ann said softly.

“You’re going to like how it ends.”

And so Anne weaved the story of their courtship, her hand tracing absently across Ann’s cool skin. The story was meant to lull her wife to sleep, but it served the dual purpose of reminding herself of the strength of their bond. By the time she felt the vibrations of Ann’s snores against her chest, she had almost fully defeated the naysaying voices in her head. It would be fine, she reminded herself. Ann loved her. The family would, too. It would be fine. On and on, until the gentle motion of the train and the soft snores of her wife rocked her to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> A good writing day for me overall. I'm chugging away on a personal project that's been stalled a little bit, plus these ladies got into some serious shenanigans. Your thoughtful and encouraging comments help more than you can know. 
> 
> Big shoutout to all the Brits who shared helpful train advice and info a few chapters back. I actually did go back and reference what y'all said, and I watched a video of some guy reviewing it. When I clicked through the website it looked the sleeper leaves at MIDNIGHT? So the timeline is a little wonky, based on the last chapter. Like, why wouldn't they go home first? Uh, because the author is ignorant. But, you know, the whole point is for them to smash. So. Mission accomplished. 
> 
> Another fun one for me to write, so I hope you all enjoyed it as well.
> 
> Let me know what you thought!


	15. Weekend at Lizzie's

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know absolutely 0 about children this young, so, uh, cut me some slack

George Sutherland was a small sort of man, about Anne’s own height, with a military posture and a hawk-like nose. Anne assessed him immediately as being petty, poorly read, and unable to grow a beard. Anne had always felt that if she were a man, she would’ve been able to grow a beard. Men who couldn’t were weak, somehow. Either way, he was the picture of carefully cultivated ease when he met them on the platform - his crisp chinos, starched plaid shirt, loafers. He greeted Ann with a slight bow; he winced as Anne crushed his hand when they shook.

“Lovely to meet you, Dr. Lister,” his Scottish accent purred. “We’re so glad to have you.”

“Thank you very much,” Anne said, taking her wife’s hand as they walked to the Sutherland SUV. It was not lost on her that Sutherland had not offered to take their bags. “We’ve been looking forward to visiting.”

“As have we.” He climbed in the driver’s seat, Ann into the passenger, and Anne in the back. “I’m afraid I won’t have much leisure time, but I know Elizabeth has a lot planned for you.”

“That’s alright,” Ann said easily as they pulled out of the parking lot. “We’re just glad to come see you, see the children.”

“Oh, those children,” Sutherland laughed. “I don’t know how she manages them. We’ve got a terrific nanny, but Elizabeth still tears her hair out over them.”

Anne stiffened. She could barely stand children as it was, what would she do with poorly behaved ones? Sutherland was pointing out various spots of interest as they drove, and she made an effort to respond politely. Anxiety still twisted in her gut, and she fiddled with the ring on her index finger. Only one chance to make a first impression, she scolded herself; buck up, Lister.

The Sutherland estate was impressive. Not that Anne would have chosen those shrubs herself, but she could respect what he was trying to do. The house itself was gothic, all grey stone, which, again, wasn’t Anne’s taste, but she tried to reserve judgment. A harried looking young man met them in the driveway, wordlessly taking the suitcases and disappearing inside. Anne stepped out of the car, admiring the expanse of green grass ahead of them; she felt Ann’s small hand take hers.

“Right, well, I’ve got a few things on the docket,” Sutherland said crisply, clapping his hands together. Anne noticed his eyes were trained on their joined hands; was it possible Sutherland was less than fully supportive of their relationship? Her opinion of him solidified. “Hate to miss breakfast, but it can’t be helped. I’m sure you know the drill, Miss Lister.” 

“Dr. Lister,” Anne said stiffly. She abhorred rudeness of any kind, and Sutherland had just delivered a one-two punch.

“Dr. Lister,” Sutherland gave a half-bow before hopping back into the SUV. 

“Don’t mind him,” Ann murmured. “It’s better he’s gone anyway.”

“He’s a bit of a prick, eh?” Anne said as they walked toward the front door. 

“Massive,” Ann whispered, then her face lit up and she called out, “Liz!”

In the doorway, there was a slim, blonde woman with a sharp nose and the tired eyes of a mother of three. She wore ankle-length jeans, already stained from the morning’s antics; her pale grey t-shirt hung loosely around her narrow shoulders. The likeness to her sister, currently squeezing Anne’s hand, was undeniable; it was startling to see this woman in full form, not in the tiny box on Ann’s computer. She held her arms open wide, embracing the two of them at once.

“Annie,” she grinned, stepping back and studying her sister. “You look great. And you, Anne Lister, I haven’t seen you in this much color in years.”

Anne smiled and shrugged. She had agonized over her blue jeans and light green collared shirt at about six o’clock this morning; Ann was still dozing peacefully, murmuring her agreement with any and all choices Anne made. It wasn’t helpful, but she was too cute to disturb. Ravishing as always, Ann had chosen dark jeans and a yellow t-shirt; now, as she walked in the house, arm-in-arm with her sister, Anne saw how similar they were. Elizabeth was a bit taller, a bit narrower in the face, but her mannerisms were remarkably like Ann’s. 

Anne found herself in a bright kitchen nook, yellow wallpaper and a round table of lightly stained wood. A bassinet swung gently near one of the chairs, next to a high chair holding a sticky blonde boy; a miniature Elizabeth sat politely, spearing a too-large bite of pancake, her pudgy legs swinging gently in the air. Anne’s stomach twisted; Ann’s words about her discomfort with children reverberated in her mind. She was determined to do better than that. 

“Mary,” Elizabeth said in that soft drawl reserved for children, “say hello to Aunty Walker.”

“Hi, Aunty Walker!” The young girl said brightly. “Who’s that?” She pointed her fork at Anne.

“Aunty Lister, and don’t point at people” Ann said easily, slipping into the seat next to her. “How are you?”

Anne watched them chat easily as she sank into the chair next to Ann. Elizabeth rocked the bassinet absentmindedly; she tapped the tiny table in front of the sticky boy. He was staring, mouth-agape, at Anne. Elizabeth cleared her throat.

“Sackville, breakfast.”

He turned his attention back to the soggy Cheerios spread before him, picking them up with fat fingers and stealing glances at the interloper. Anne smiled at him. The children seemed perfectly behaved to her. What had Sutherland been on about?

“How was your trip?” Elizabeth asked warmly.

“Good,” Anne smiled, “I’d never taken the sleeper, to be honest, but it was lovely.”

“Good! Good, I’m glad to hear that. George found you alright?”

“Yes, he was very, uh, punctual.”

“It’s okay,” Elizabeth chuckled; “I know what he’s like. Let’s be glad he’s gone, eh?” 

Her wink left Anne puzzled; that hawk of a man had forced these three children on her, and then just disappeared? Did that not make Elizabeth at least a tiny bit annoyed? Anne would’ve been homicidal. A young woman in a white jacket presented the adults with plates of eggs, toast, beans; Anne flicked her napkin into her lap. 

“What do you want to do while you’re here?”

“Oh, anything,” Anne said easily. 

“Now, Lister,” Elizabeth drawled, “don’t be like that. I know you’ve already thought of a million things you want to do and see around here.”

Anne laughed and turned helplessly to her wife, who looked up from an animated conversation with the little girl. 

“We just want to spend time with you, Liz.”

“I’ve got loads of questions for this one,” Elizabeth teased.

“Shoot,” Anne smiled. 

“Let me see the ring in person.”

Ann laughed and held out her hand. Pulling out a pair of half-glasses and perching them low on her nose, Elizabeth studied the onyx with the precision and attention of a jeweler. She turned her head to look at Anne with the same narrow eyes and stern expression. Anne felt like a naughty student awaiting punishment. 

“One question.”

“Okay.” Anne tugged at her collar.

“Who else have you given this ring to?”

“Liz!” Ann cried.

“No one,” Anne answered firmly. “It’s fine, Ann. It’s a fair question. I saw that ring online a few weeks before Ann and I were quarantined together. I had admired it, but at the time I had no need for it. On the Thursday of our first week together I asked my assistant to buy it for me and have it sent to Crow Nest. If you’ll recall, I showed it to you, about a week later when -”

“Yes, thank you, Lister, I remember” Elizabeth held up her hand in surrender, pulling her glasses off with the other. “It’s lovely, even better in person.” She smiled widely. “Test One: passed.”

“How many tests will there be?” Anne was only half-joking. 

“Oh, dozens, I should think.” Elizabeth smiled playfully. 

After breakfast, they migrated to the back garden, which was strewn with children’s toys. The boy (Sackville, Anne reminded herself) waddled out happily to a mound of sand he seemed to be cultivating; his sister picked leaves off a bush nearby. Anne shook her head as she watched them; all those expensive playthings, and they just wanted to mess about with dirt and leaves? Children were truly incomprehensible. Two wrought-iron benches formed a right-angle nearby, and the adults settled here. Ann took the baby from her sister’s arms, her face lighting up as she bounced the giggling girl on her knee. Anne sat next to her, enjoying the warm sun on her face as they looked over the green expanse; Elizabeth dropped onto the neighboring bench, crossing her legs and turning to Anne.

“My sister says you work a lot.”

“I do,” Anne answered, “but, uh, I’m always home for dinner. I almost never bring any work home.”

“When I spoke to her in August, that was not the case.”

“Liz!” Ann hissed.

“It’s okay,” Anne told her wife. “She’s right. I was working too much. You see, I’m Department Head this year, so I was stretched a bit thin. Luckily, your sister is very astute, and she reminded me of my, uh, my priorities.”

“When’s the last time you saw Mariana Lawton?” Elizabeth fired.

Anne was surprised by the question, but she remembered Elizabeth had grown up in Yorkshire and had likely heard the same nasty rumors growing up that Ann had. She wondered how much Ann told her, if Ann had anxieties or jealousies she shared with her sister but not her wife. She inhaled.

“Not since August, actually. We spent the night in Halifax, and we -”

“Ann told me.”

“Okay,” Anne said uneasily. “Well, not since then.”

“And that’s the truth?” Elizabeth pushed.

“Of course,” Anne insisted. “She hasn’t even tried to contact me.”

“How about Isabella Norcliffe?” Anne opened her mouth to answer, but Elizabeth kept going. “Sibella Maclean? Maria Barlow? Vere Hobart?”

Understanding clicked in Anne’s mind. Elizabeth wanted her to know that she knew about Anne’s past. 

“None of them,” Anne said honestly. “Isabella delivered a parcel of books to me over the summer. Ann was there. I haven’t spoken to Sibella or Maria in months. Ann and I FaceTimed Vere in July when her baby was born.”

“Alright,” Elizabeth said warily. “How’s her back been?”

“I can answer for myself,” Ann piped up.

“I’m aware. I know that _you_ know how your back is. I want to be sure that Dr. Lister does.”

“She had a bit of a flare up on Sunday, but she was better by the evening. Before that, it had been two weeks. Fifteen days, I think. We’ve found two of the painkillers from Dr. Day, a day in bed, and a bit of that cream does the trick.”

“A day of _rest_ in bed, right?”

“Of course,” Anne kept her voice cool, even as a traitorous blush flooded her cheeks. Elizabeth really did have a penetrating gaze. 

“Because you know her back is very sensitive.”

“I know.”

“So if you’re being rough with her -”

“Liz!” Ann interrupted. “Please!”

“I would never be rough with her,” Anne said earnestly.

“Not unless she asked, right?” Elizabeth winked. “Are you having enough sex?”

Anne flushed, unable to formulate any kind of answer; Ann balked beside her. 

“You can _not_ ask people that, Liz! It’s so inappropriate. It is none of your business. That is so personal and private and - how would you feel if -”

Anne put a hand on her knee, and she fell silent.

“We-”

“No need,” Elizabeth interrupted smoothly. She winked. “I can tell.” 

“Oh my God,” Ann sighed. “Is this what it’s going to be like all week? You giving Anne the third degree, and me dying of embarrassment?”

“Probably,” Elizabeth flicked her sunglasses over her eyes and turned back to the children. “Lister knows how it is. She’s an older sister too.”

Anne leaned back, exhaling properly for the first time since they arrived. She stretched one arm across the back of the bench, encircling Ann’s shoulders and drawing shapeless figures on the bare skin of her arm. The three of them chatted innocuously about the weather, the children, the estate. It had been in Sutherland’s family for years, and he was very proud of it. Anne noted that for future conversations, perhaps a way to break the ice. The children were Mary (five), Sackville (nearly three), and Elisabeth (seven months). Watching Ann coo and fuss over the smallest of them sent a twinge through Anne’s body; it was unfamiliar, though not unpleasant. A mixture of apprehension and jealousy and admiration. Just a dash of arousal. She pushed those feelings to the side, looking up as Sackville started to wail.

“That bloody sandbox,” Elizabeth sighed, rising. “He’s always trying to build something, and then it falls, and then he’s…”

Her voice faded as she approached the crying child. Anne turned to her wife, finding her smiling expectantly at her.

“Go after her,” Ann suggested.

“What?” 

“Go over there.” Ann nudged her with her knee.

“I think Elizabeth can handle her own son.”

“I’m sure she can, but you’ll win so many extra points if you go investigate.”

“Investigate what?”

“What Sackville’s crying about.”

“She just said it’s about the sand.”

“Go,” Ann spoke slowly, “help him.”

Anne opened her mouth to argue, but she knew it was useless. She stood with a sigh; Ann smiled and tilted her chin. Pecking her lips quickly, Anne strode over to Sackville and his mother.

“And what’s the matter here?”'

“His sandcastle fell down, didn’t it, darling?” Elizabeth was crouching next to her crying son and rubbing his back. 

“Well that’s not good,” Anne said seriously, sitting down next to the boy. “What were you making?”

“A cas-castle,” he hiccuped.

“Why don’t you show Aunty Lister how you do it?” Elizabeth suggested gently.

“Is - is guh-gonna fa-fall.”

“Not if we work together,” Anne tried. Why was the boy still crying? She looked to Elizabeth, who rolled her eyes playfully. “Come on, show me.”

“Ge-get the buh-buh-buh-”

“This?” Anne interrupted, holding up the plastic bucket he’d been using. The boy nodded, wiping his eyes with a chubby hand. Anne could admit he was cute, in a certain light. “And now what?”

Back on the bench, Ann watched her wife proudly as she helped Sackville fill his tiny bucket, turn it over, and carefully raise it to reveal a shaky cylinder that disintegrated almost the moment it was formed. Ann wished for her sketchpad or a camera to capture the image before her. Anne’s usually straight back bent over as she spoke to the small boy. Sackville’s bright face as he looked up at her, entranced. The growing mound of crumbling sand between them. Elizabeth walked back to her with a grin. 

“Does Anne want kids?” She asked, taking the baby from her. 

“I don’t think so. She’s not very good with them.”

“I’m not sure I agree with that.”

“She _thinks_ she’s not very good with them,” Ann clarified.

“What do you want?”

“I don’t know,” Ann sighed. “I don’t want to be pregnant. Dr. Day says it’d probably be too much for me anyway.” Elizabeth hummed. “But, gosh, I’m finding the sight of her with Sackville kind of delightful.”

Elizabeth laughed, and Ann joined her. She couldn’t deny the exciting, heartwarming, arousing sight of her wife - her buttoned-up, Classics Professor, Mistress of Shibden Hall, all-tremble-at-the-mention-of-her-name wife - speaking seriously to a three-year-old boy about his sand architecture. Ann had never really considered children, not for herself, but she couldn’t deny the biological, maternal stirring in her gut. 

“You look good, Annie.”

“Do I?”

“I think living at Shibden is agreeing with you.”

“Really?” Ann brightened.

“And the way she looks at you,” Elizabeth shook her head. “How’d you get her so well-trained?”

“Oh, come on,” Ann chuckled and rolled her eyes.

“I’m very pleased for you,” Elizabeth said genuinely. 

“And you?” Ann said as Elizabeth stood, casting a shadow over her. “George seemed...I don’t know, off, this morning.”

“Oh, forget him. The kids run me ragged, but I couldn’t be happier.”

“And your husband?”

“I think it’s time for a nap, hmm?” 

Elizabeth collected Sackville and Mary and led them into the house. Her dodge was not lost on Ann, who made a mental note to bring it up again. Anne sauntered back to her, draping her arm around her shoulders again. Ann leaned into her. 

“Make a new friend, Pony?”

“I think I did,” Anne said proudly.

“You’d make a good mum.”

“Oh God,” Anne laughed, “hardly.”

Ann bit her lip, making another note to bring _this_ idea up later as well. Anne liked the kids more than she could admit. At least, right now. After a few days? Ann was certain her wife would either be massively broody or swear off minors entirely. For now, it was enough to feel her chest rising and falling in even breaths, enjoying the gentle breeze in the warm autumn sun. Anne kissed the top of her head. More than enough, Ann decided.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> So far so good on the first day, right? I'm thinking they have at least five days up in Scotland, so lots of hijinks to come. 
> 
> "In A-'s letter from her sister last night she said little Ewan [Evan] talked of Aunty Walker and ditto Lister" December 19, 1838. My HEART. I did a tiny bit of research on the Sutherlands, and I'm keeping roughly with the timeline. So if they were married in 1834, the Sutherlands only had Mary, Sackville, and Elisabeth. Evan was born in 1835 and Ann Walker Sutherland (CUTE) in 1837. But five kid is like SO many. I think three is enough to wear on poor old Anne's nerves. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading. I always get a bit nervous about no-smut chapters, so I hope this is a nice dose of fluff. Let me know what you thought!


	16. Guess Who's Coming To Dinner

As it turned out, George was something of a popular entertainer in the area. Ann suspected it had more to do with the free booze, expensive cigars, and talented chef more than his personality, but she kept that to herself. The large dining room was full of people, and Ann was sandwiched between her sister and a sweaty, trying-too-hard Alexander Mackenzie. Her wife was speaking animatedly to the man seated next to her (Mark Something? Ann couldn’t remember); she shot Ann winks across the table every now and then, but Ann desperately missed her. Not to mention, Alexander was breathing down her neck.

“How long will you be with us?” His smarmy voice broke into her thoughts.

“Until Thursday night,” Ann said absently, her attention more focused on the tendon standing out in Anne’s neck as she turned to Elizabeth. Had Anne’s hands always had such pronounced veins? Ann swallowed dryly.

“Perhaps I could take you to lunch one day.”

“Perhaps.” Ann’s heart skipped a beat as she felt the toe of Anne’s brogue slide along the inside of her calf. 

Had it really been less than a day since Anne had held her up against that rough, vibrating wall on the train? It felt like ages. Perhaps it was the afternoon they’d spent walking the grounds, never getting further than a kiss or a cursory grope before they were interrupted. Pressing her into the rough bark of a tree, Anne had nearly reached her breast when Sackville had called, desperately, for Aunty Lister. At first, the children had been sweet and the sight of them with her wife arousing, but now? Ann was growing bloody tired of their grubby hands and chubby cheeks. Sure, kids were cute, but was it worth this kind of interference with their sex life? Ann was unconvinced. 

Luckily, dinner broke apart quickly, with the men traveling down to George’s end of the table for cigars and raucous jokes. The women rose and passed into the sitting room, like this was some kind of _Downton Abbey_. Ann tried to catch up to her wife (now talked heatedly with an older woman Ann recognized as George’s mother), but Elizabeth caught her arm.

“Would you mind not shagging across my dining room table?”

“Stop,” Ann laughed as they dropped onto one of the antique sofas. “Do you enjoy these?”

“What?”

“These Saturday night dinners. George playing king of the castle.”

“Oh, let him have his fun,” Elizabeth said with a shake of her head. “It’s not so bad.”

“Are you happy, Liz?”

“What?” Elizabeth laughed. “I live in an enormous house, I have a full staff, and my three beautiful children are both happy and healthy.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“I’m very happy, Annie,” Elizabeth said gently, patting her arm. “I have everything I ever wanted.”

“You don’t seem like you’re in love with your husband.”

Elizabeth sighed, stretching her neck to study the ceiling. She turned back to Ann, her face a mix of pity and envy and sadness.

“I don’t have to be in love with my husband. He’s good to me. Really,” she emphasized as Ann opened her mouth to object, “he actually is. And I love my children, and I love this life. I want my children to have a home like this. A big estate. Plenty of room and toys and everything they want. Both parents.”

“But if you’re not happy-”

“Ann, listen to me,” Elizabeth sighed and took her hands. “What you and Anne have is incredibly special. And incredibly rare. Most of us do not actually get to shag our childhood crushes. Most people don’t fall in love with the person of their dreams and have that person reciprocate. Certainly, almost nobody has the kind of companionship and chemistry that you two seem to have. Okay?” Elizabeth waited until Ann nodded. “So George may not be the perfect man, but I am living exactly the life that I want. For me, that’s enough.”

Ann nodded mutely, and the rest of the party seemed to move on without her. She was struck by the tragedy of her sister’s life. To be beholden to a man who seemed to care about himself infinitely more than he did about her. To sacrifice the passion and excitement of a real love for the safety and stability of a family. Ann could’ve had that, she knew, with any one of the feckless, gold-digging suitors the tribe had paraded before her in the past. She had held out, foolishly, for Anne Lister. And it worked! Why didn’t Elizabeth do the same? The whole thing seemed so terribly, terribly sad. 

Anne plopped down next to her, stretching her arm along the back of the sofa and kissing her cheek. Ann’s chest felt tight, too full of love and gratitude and fear that it would be taken away. Would she and Anne end up like Elizabeth and George? Living in separate spheres, coming together only occasionally and lifelessly? She stared up at Anne, at the sharp line of her jaw, the creases around her eyes, the curve of her lips as she smiled down at her.

“What?” 

“I just love you so much,” Ann said softly.

“And I love you.” Anne’s brow furrowed in confusion. 

“I think George is a dickhead.”

“I think you’re probably right,” Anne laughed. “How long do you think we have to stay down here?”

“I don’t know,” Ann groaned.

“Let’s play a game,” Anne said, her eyes dancing. “Go around the room and meet three people.”

“That’s not a game,” she whined. “That’s just being at a party.”

“Meet them and find out the last book they read. Weirdest answer wins.”

“I can’t control -”

“So pick people, Adney,” Anne purred, “that you think read weird books.”

Ann nodded slowly, surveying the crowd. She stood wordlessly, moving toward a middle-aged woman in sandals and a caftan: _Sense and Sensibility_. The hell? Ann thought as she politely extricated herself nearly an hour later. Boring. She’d expected something about crystals or tarot cards. She moved over to a young man in cargo shorts, remembering he was one of George’s hunting buddies: _Realistic Bug Out Bag_. He was _very_ interested in doomsday preparations. It was getting late, but Ann was feeling pretty smug as she surveyed the room, having finally escaped Mr. Cargo Shorts and his halitosis. That was a pretty weird book; she doubted Anne had found one better. An arm slid across her lower back. She turned warmly.

“Oh,” she sighed, “hello, Mr. Mackenzie.”

“Having a nice evening?” He said, shoving his hand in his pocket as Ann stepped away from him.

“Yes.”

“Your friend over there,” he nodded to Anne, who was interrogating a meek-looking man in a bowtie; noticing the gesture, her dark eyes widened, and she crossed the room in long strides, “I haven’t met her before.”

“That’s Anne Lister. Of Shibden Hall. In Halifax. And she’s my -”

“Hello, darling,” Anne purred, reaching them and pecking Ann gently on the lips.

“Anne, this is Mr. Alexander Mackenzie.”

“Oh,” Alexander inhaled, his eyes flicking back and forth between the women. “Is that - um, I’ve never - is that how - that’s how you lot greet your friends down there?”

“Oh yes,” Anne purred, holding eye contact with the red-faced man as she took Ann’s face in her hands; she winked, then kissed her firmly. “That is Yorkshire.”

Alexander stuttered his apologies and drifted away. Ann laughed as she was tugged through a side door, into the darkened library. Anne closed the door swiftly behind her and pressed her against it, catching her lips fiercely. Her strong hands cradled Ann’s face, her tongue slipping past her lips and her hips rolling demandingly against Ann’s. Ann took handfuls of her shirt in her hands, needing Anne’s warm body closer. She moaned softly as Anne’s thigh slotted between her own, pressing upward. 

“Pony,” she sighed, breaking away, “we can’t, someone will -”

“We can,” Anne purred, twisting the lock on the door. “Who was that guy?”

Ann stretched her neck back against the cool wood as deft fingers wrenched open her jeans. She closed her eyes, one hand running along Anne’s back while the other tangled in her hair, pulling her closer as she assaulted her neck. 

“Who.” Anne nipped her pulse point. “Was. That. Guy.”

“I told you,” Ann breathed, “Alexander - unh, Mackenzie.”

“And why,” a warm hand slid into her panties, “was he touching my wife?”

“He wasn’t.” She clutched Anne harder, her hips bucking as those long fingers made contact with her clit.

“I saw him,” Anne purred into her neck, stroking between her folds, “and if we weren’t guests in this house,” she slid the tip of a finger inside, “I would’ve punched his lights out.”

“Oh, Pony.”

The combination of the possessive tone in Anne’s voice, the relief at being connected _at last_ , the heightened excitement of the party winding down on the other side of the door - Ann was going to lose it. Anne’s lips sucked at the juncture of her neck and shoulder, one hand curling and pressing and coaxing between Ann’s legs, the other trailing under Ann’s shirt and into her bra. Desire coiled in Ann’s gut unevenly, rapidly, urgently. She bit her lip to keep from crying out as Anne stretched her, speeding up her thrusts and dripping filth into her ear.

“You’re mine, Ann Walker, do you hear me?” Ann nodded breathlessly. “I have been thinking about being inside you all day.”

“Me too,” Ann whined, digging her fingers into Anne’s shoulders as her release threatened to overwhelm her. 

“I can’t wait,” Anne growled, “for all these fucking people to go home, so I can take you upstairs and rip these tight little jeans right off.”

“Pony,” Ann whispered urgently, her hips rutting desperately against Anne’s hand.

“Because you’re mine, Ann Walker,” Anne wielded her name like a knife; “and if I could, I’d spread you out on that table.” Ann whimpered, teetering on the edge. “And let everyone see how good you look right now. How hard you’re going to come on my hand. Make sure every fucking person in Scotland knows,” Anne caught her lips in a kiss so fierce Ann thought she might die right there against the door, “that you belong to me. No one else, but me.”

What choice did she have? Ann exploded silently, her body shaking in Anne’s strong arms as her climax rolled through her. Her teeth dug into her lip; moans lodged in her throat. Anne’s savage touch turned gentle, her hand as soft as silk as she eased Ann through her orgasm. She placed soft kisses over her neck, along her jawline, across her cheek, up to her forehead. Pulling her hand away, Anne rested her temple against Ann’s, and for a moment they just breathed together. Ann tilted her chin; their lips met gently as their hearts and lungs re-calibrated. Straightening, Anne rebuttoned her jeans; Ann took her wet fingers in her mouth, sucking her own arousal from them. 

“Oh, God,” Anne sighed, “I love you.”

“I can tell,” Ann teased, straightening her shirt. “Shall we go back?”

“I think we’d better.”

They cracked open the door, only to find Elizabeth and George lounging on one of the sofas and finishing off their drinks.

“So that’s where they went,” Elizabeth grinned. “I wondered.”

“You have an excellent library,” Anne said smoothly, “what’s the last book you read, Captain Sutherland?”

“A biography of Oswald Moseley,” he said stiffly as he stood. “I trust you two had a nice evening?”

“Yes, thank you,” Ann offered, sensing tension in the room.

“I’m off to bed. Good night.” He kissed his wife on the cheek and disappeared.

“Have we offended him?” Ann asked worriedly, sinking down next to her sister. Anne poured herself two fingers of whisky.

“Oh no,” Elizabeth replied breezily. “He gets that way when everyone leaves. Never quite lives up to his fantasy, you know?”

“He seemed cross.”

“Well, he wasn’t, but he could have been, if he’d seen your little stunt.” She addressed this to Anne, who was swirling the amber liquid in her glass.

“What was that?” Anne asked.

“Planting a fat one on my baby sister in the middle of a party.”

“Well, come on,” Anne laughed, “she’s going to be my wife. That Mackenzie chap was practically groping her.”

“Does George disapprove?” Knitting her brows together, Ann turned to her sister. “About us, I mean?”

“No,” Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “He’s just scared someone else will.”

Ann half-expected her wife to pipe up at this point, but she was back to brooding into her drink. Unsure how to feel, Ann picked at her nails until her sister laid a single hand over hers.

“He’s pleased to have you here, in his own way. This do was him showing you off, even if he’s a bit of an ass about it.”

Ann nodded, not quite believing her. Not yet. But then she felt Elizabeth pull the collar of her shirt to the side.

“Anne Lister,” she scolded. “What have you done?”

Looking up sheepishly, Anne shrugged. As much as she tried, Ann couldn’t twist or turn enough to see whatever it was Elizabeth was staring at on her shoulder. Elizabeth started laughing.

“What is it?” Ann begged.

“You’ve got a small mark,” Anne said, dropping her empty glass onto the bar. “On, uh, on your neck, uh, shoulder - area.”

“What?” Ann’s jaw dropped.

“It’s very small,” Anne assured her, crossing the room to peer over Elizabeth’s shoulder. 

“How’d it get there? What’s going on? Why are you laughing? Am I going to die?” A million terrible scenarios flooded Ann’s brain; what in the world could have caused this mark? Did she have a rare blood disorder? What did the mark look like? It was going to kill her, wasn’t it? This mark she couldn’t even see!

“You’ve got a hickey, Annie,” her sister laughed and stood, nudging Anne in the ribs. “Keep your paws off my little sister, eh?” She brandished her fists. “Or I’m going to have to fight you.”

Anne held up her hands in surrender, laughing and shaking her head. Standing, Ann clicked her tongue and pouted. She’d never had a hickey before. It was rather juvenile, wasn’t it? Sort of embarrassing. Anne should know better.

“I’m sorry, darling,” Anne said sincerely. “I got caught up.”

Her lower lip still jutting out, Ann let her wife take her by the waist, and they followed Elizabeth out of the room. 

“Don’t be cross,” Anne whispered in her ear. “I am sorry.”

“I know,” Ann said softly, “and I’ll get my revenge.”

Anne barked out a throaty laugh, and Elizabeth turned around to face them, one hand on the banister to the staircase.

“What’s so funny?”

“Mrs. Sutherland,” Anne purred, winking at her wife as she broke away to climb the stairs next to Elizabeth. “what’s the last book you read?” 

“Dr. Lister,” Elizabeth laughed, “I have three children under the age of six. What makes you think I have time to read anything at all?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> So the Sutherland marriage is based on a lot of (straight) relationships I see. I don't know about y'all, but, like, 90% of my friends who date/marry men put up with the WORST behavior, e.g. not taking care of their own kids, not doing laundry, you know the drill. Most of them aren't as aware of it as Elizabeth, but I do know a few women like her. Who are just like, look, I want a family, he's a good guy, this works for me. Of course, to Ann, this is totally nuts, because she has the Literal Woman of Her Dreams, and Sutherland seems like a prick from the outside. Again, do y'all have friends like that? I do. I feel like that's an important distinction for Ann to see. Most people don't have a relationship like the Ann(e)s (because this version is fiction), and they can still be happy. Having this contrast feels important to me, and it feels like a working modernization of the Sutherlands we saw on the show. I dunno. Maybe you disagree. 
> 
> Anne's stunt in front of Alexander is based on "I immediately kissed her again, with a little more pressure of the lips, saying 'That is Yorkshire.'" October 13, 1824. What a LINE, Anne! It's about Maria Barlow, but, hey, this is my story. 
> 
> How has Ann not gotten a hickey already? 
> 
> Anyway, thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts! You all are so wonderful and generous; I can't tell you how much I appreciate it!


	17. Let's Do It On My Twin Bed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> long? check  
> dirty? check  
> ya girl is tired so please excuse typos? double check

“Don’t be mad,” Elizabeth said, pausing with her hand on the doorknob. “It’s really for the best.”

Looking between Ann and Elizabeth, Anne didn’t have time to imagine what the older sister might mean. The reality, revealed by Elizabeth slowly swinging the door open, was worse than she could’ve thought. Well, except for bunkbeds. Or a trundle.

“Twin beds, Liz?” Ann whined. “Come on.”

“It’s for the best,” Elizabeth said, smiling apologetically.

“How?” Ann challenged her sister.

“It’s far from the rest of the house. The only other bedrooms are next to ours, between Sackville’s and Mary’s, and directly next to the hall bathroom.”

Ann sighed, plopping on one tiny bed. Anne tried to hide her disappointment, not wanting to show any rudeness to her host. After all, Elizabeth had been exceedingly understanding about that dark mark on her baby sister’s neck. Anne leaned against the dresser, taking in the small room. Two neatly-made twin beds with crisp sheets and matching comforters. Light wood nightstands and dressers. It was like a room made for twin children or spinster sisters. At least there was an en suite bath. 

“Liz,” Ann whined again, “we’re going to be married. Are you pretending like we don’t sleep in the same bed?”

“No,” Elizabeth drawled, “I’m actually doing the opposite. Because if you two sex fiends were next to my children, not only would you scar them for life, but their nightly routines would almost certainly wake you. If you were next to my room, George and I would almost definitely be unable to look you in the face.” Ann opened her mouth to protest, but Elizabeth silenced her with a hand. “Especially if that hickey on your neck is any indication of what you two get up to.” Anne laughed. “And the hall toilet runs, so you’d be up all night from that. This is the best option.”

“Thank you, Elizabeth,” Anne said diplomatically. 

With that, Ann’s sister disappeared into the hallway, closing the door behind her. Anne sat down next to her wife and took her hand, smiling as that blonde head rested against her shoulder. 

“This sucks,” Ann pouted.

“It’s okay. Kind of exciting. We’ve never had sex in a twin bed.”

Ann harrumphed, which Anne took as a challenge. She pivoted to push Ann back into the pillows, hovering over her with a grin. 

“It’s not about the size of the boat,” she purred, “but the motion of the ocean.”

Ann giggled, wrapping her hands around Anne’s neck and pulling her down. Their lips met slowly, teasingly. Ann tugged gently at her hair, tilting her head to slide her tongue past Anne’s lips. It was patient and sensual in a way that their lovemaking hadn’t been in a few days; they’d been on the desk and on the train and up against that door. This was different. 

“I’m sorry about this,” Anne said quietly, running her fingers over the purplish mark at the juncture of Ann’s neck and shoulder. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

“And why’s that?” Ann was biting her lip, looking up at her under those long lashes. Her blonde hair was spread across the pillow like a halo. “What were you thinking of that was more important than my fair skin?”

“How badly I wanted to see you come,” Anne husked, her lips ghosting over Ann’s. “I’m still thinking about it, actually.”

“Maybe I should make you get in your own bed.”

“Miss Walker,” Anne gasped, “no one could be that cruel.”

“I guess not,” Ann shifted, pressing her chest upward. “Maybe you can make it up to me.”

Ann was never particularly subtle, was she? Anne grinned, kissing her swiftly before sitting back on her heels. She slid her hands under Ann’s shirt, tickling her stomach. Giggling, Ann curled upward and swatted Anne on the belly. Never one to miss an opportunity, Anne tugged her t-shirt off in one fluid motion. Ann’s pale breasts heaved in her white lacy bra; Anne licked her lips. 

“God,” Anne groaned, leaning down to reach underneath her for the clasp. “You are so beautiful I honestly cannot believe it.”

“I bet you say that to all the girls,” Ann teased as she laid back against the comforter, her bare chest rising and falling gently as she breathed. 

“You know I don’t.” Anne dropped to her forearms, tracing her tongue across Ann’s clavicle. “It’s only you.” 

“Pony,” she moaned softly as Anne took her breast in her mouth. “Oh fu- Pony.”

With a grin, Anne set about taking her fill of Ann’s chest. Slowly, she worked her way down with soft kisses and gentle teasing with her teeth. Really, she’d never meant to mark Ann’s porcelain skin; in fact, she’d been exceedingly careful not to in the past. Sure, sometimes she got caught up - hell, they both did - and Ann wound up with a few purplish fingerprints on her hips or the impression of Anne’s teeth on her breasts. Nothing where anyone could see. Now, of course, when Anne was trying to make a good impression, she’d made this adolescent mistake. 

And yet, as Anne reached the waistline of Ann’s jeans and pulled away, she couldn’t deny there was something inherently sexy about the reddish spot on her wife’s pale neck. She flicked open the jeans, then hopped off the foot of the bed, tugging them down while Ann giggled and shimmied. Anne ran her tongue along the planes of her calves, pressed kisses to the dimples of her knees, sucked and nipped up the curves of her thighs. Hooking her finger under white lace, she pulled Ann’s panties off slowly, then repeated the process all over again.

“Good Lord, Pony, come on,” Ann groaned as Anne’s lips made their way across her belly. 

“What’s that?” Anne purred against her skin, pressing her knees apart.

“Please.” Ann pushed her shoulders.

“So demanding,” Anne clicked her tongue. “One of these days, Miss Walker, I’m going to teach you some manners.”

Whatever pithy remark Ann formulated died on her tongue as Anne’s made contact with her center. Instead, a sigh of relief took its place, her entire body relaxing. Anne worked her folds gently, teased her clit slowly, did all the things she knew would drive Ann mad. Little by little, she recognized the signs of Ann’s impending relief. The fingers inching their way into her hair. The impatient upward press of hips under her hands. The increasingly incoherent mumblings coming from the pillows. She wrapped her hands around the underside of Ann’s thighs, pressing her legs gently toward her chest; from this angle, she could cover every inch of Ann’s center, wrap her lips around the whole of her, consume every last drop.

“Pony,” Ann whimpered as her thighs started to tremble. 

Anne sped up, pressing her tongue past Ann’s folds, tasting the clutching, wet core of her. Ann arched back into the mattress, hands clenching around Anne’s head, the filthiest sounds dripping from her lips. Anne’s chest swelled at a job well done, desire coursing through her veins, but she wasn’t done yet. Just as Ann was sagging back into the sheets, Anne took her clit between her lips, unable to resist, sucking gently. And then Ann was gone again, her release a little smaller, a little messier, but still _there_. Anne took mercy on her and pulled away. 

Scrambling around, she managed to sit cross-legged at the end of the bed; Ann was still spread before her, legs wide across Anne’s lap, one arm thrown across her face, the other dangling over the edge. Anne rubbed her calves gently until Ann flung her arm off and looked down at her.

“I don’t think the size of the bed matters, does it?” Anne said, proud of herself and her effect on her wife. Ann laughed.

“I suppose not. Come here.”

Anne stalked her way up Ann’s body, hovering over her face for a beat before catching her lips. Without breaking the kiss, Ann started unbuttoning her shirt, teasing her way down Anne’s torso. Anne sat back, straddling one of Ann’s thighs to pull her shirt and bra off, while small, pale fingers worked her trousers open. Jumping up, Anne tugged off her jeans, boxers, and socks, while Ann rose slowly. She wrapped her arms around Anne’s neck, bringing their lips and bodies together. Every muscle in her body relaxed as Ann’s soft skin pressed against hers. Ann walked her backwards slowly, until Anne’s legs hit the other bed. She sat down heavily, and Ann climbed into her lap.

“Bad girl, Dr. Lister,” she purred, her eyes trained on her own hands running across Anne’s skin. “Up against the library door? Giving me a mark where anybody could see?”

“Couldn’t help it,” Anne breathed as Ann’s delicate fingers found her clit.

“I think you were marking your territory.” Ann’s voice was sultry as she moved in slow circles. “As if your ring wasn’t enough.” Her hand moved quicker. “Your dirty fucking looks across the table.” Anne whimpered as Ann pressed harder. “Shoving your tongue in my mouth in front of a dozen strangers.” Anne’s hands shot out, one gripping Ann’s narrow waist, the other her slim shoulder. “Not that I minded, of course.” Anne dropped her head to Ann’s shoulder, sinking her teeth into the soft flesh there. “Ah-ah-ah, Pony. None of that.” Ann’s free hand hooked under her chin, tilting Anne’s head up until their eyes met. “Don’t need my sister to get your dental records off my skin.”

Anne choked out a laugh, her release coiling rapidly in her gut. The combination of Ann’s precise movements between her legs, the firm press of her hard nipples against Anne’s skin, the weight of her in her lap, the way Ann’s arm wrapped around her back and her hand hooked around the crook of Anne’s neck, the utter filth dripping from her lips - Good Lord, Anne thought it was a miracle she was still conscious. Drowning in those deep blue eyes, she vaulted over the edge, into the warmth of Ann’s touch, her voice, her love.

“Yes, Pony,” Ann purred as she shuddered in her arms; “God, how good you look like this.”

Anne flopped backward, her head and neck dangling over the edge of the narrow bed. She panted at the ceiling, her heart racing; the warm presence left her lap, and she hoisted herself upright in time to see Ann sashay into the bathroom. Anne watched her for a few moments as she puttered around the bathroom, washing, brushing, lotioning. There were so many steps to Ann’s nightly routine. A profound sense of gratitude washed over her. She padded into the cramped washroom and washed her hands.

“What do you want to do tomorrow?” She caught Ann’s eye in the mirror. 

“Whatever,” Ann shrugged, picking up her toothbrush.

She would never tell, but this was one of Anne’s favorite times of the day. For about two minutes (though Ann usually rushed it), they stood next to each other, the only sound the swishing of their brushes. Tonight, Anne studied their naked bodies, side by side; Ann was pale and curvy and soft in all the places Anne was too straight and hard, with uneven, crisscrossing tan lines all over her chest and arms because she could never remember to put on sunscreen. Ann nudged her hip, grinning through frothy lips. Anne nudged her back. Ann said something unintelligible, and Anne shook her head with a grin and a shrug. Ann spit.

“Maybe we could just hang around the house tomorrow, would that be okay?”

Anne spit and wrapped her wife in her arms. 

“Of course, darling. Anything you want.”

“And then during the week, we can go and do stuff. I want to see George more. I’m worried about Elizabeth.”

“Are you?”

“I think she’s unhappy.”

“She seems happy,” Anne furrowed her brow as her wife pulled away and sorted through their bags. “We should unpack tomorrow too.”

“Right,” Ann said quietly, slipping a nightshirt over her head.

“Hey,” Anne stepped closer, rubbing her back, “you can’t put yourself in someone else’s marriage, okay? I’ve tried it, and it’s not worth the effort.”

“This is different,” Ann said as she pulled away and climbed into the far bed. Anne started putting on her pajamas. “It’s my sister, not some woman I’m running around with.”

Anne bit the inside of her cheek as she slipped into her own bed; her wife’s words stung, but it wasn’t worth the fight. Clearly something was bothering her, and Anne would rather not end their first night in Scotland with a massive row. Pouting was better, she decided. Settling her journal on her lap, she clicked her pen.

“I’m sorry, Pony,” Ann said softly. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Forget it.”

She scribbled in her journal for a few minutes, feeling Ann’s eyes on her. She wasn’t going to start a fight, but she’d be damned if she would read aloud tonight. Half an hour passed. She flipped her journal shut. Ann was asleep. Sighing, Anne turned over in her tiny bed and closed her eyes. She hadn’t had this much trouble going to sleep since Ann came into her life. Pulling the covers tighter around her shoulders, she tossed and turned. The clock on the nightstand read 1:18. With a huff, she turned again, facing away from Ann. After a few minutes she felt cold hands slip under her t-shirt, soft breasts press into her back, a cool leg slip between her own. 

“I’m sorry, Pony.”

“It’s -”

“Listen. I’m worried about Elizabeth and George getting along, and if she’s happy, and if she feels as happy as I do. I should not have said what I said earlier. I’m not used to being worried for her. I’m sorry.”

“Okay.”

“Pony,” Ann drawled, pressing herself closer to Anne’s back, “I am sorry.”

“Ann,” she turned over to face her wife, “I understand, but Elizabeth has been married for years. It’s her life. The more you push your nose in, the more she’s going to resent you for it.”

“Okay.”

“Is it okay?” Anne asked softly.

“Yes, I - I should listen to you more. Let’s just see how tomorrow goes. You help me. See if you think they’re off.”

“Okay,” Anne said with a small smile. “Now go back to your own bed, Miss Walker, or I’m going to fall off.”

“My hands are cold,” Ann pouted.

“They bloody well are,” Anne laughed, taking Ann’s hands from her stomach and rubbing them between her own. “Have you got icicles here?”

Ann smiled as she shifted clumsily to rest her weight on top of her; Anne brought her rapidly warming hands to her lips before releasing them. Slipping her hands between Anne’s back and the sheets, Ann kissed her neck gently, sliding down to suck at the hollow of her throat. With a satisfied sigh, Anne ran her hands along her wife’s back, relishing the warm, wet press of Ann’s soft lips. After a few moments, however, she pulled that blonde head away from her neck.

“Adney, I know what you’re doing.”

“What?” Ann’s smug smile gave her away.

“Have I got a mark?” Anne pointed to her throat. 

“I think so,” Ann pulled back slightly, tilting her head. “Yeah, I think you do.”

“Adney.”

“Fair is fair, Dr. Lister.” Ann straddled one of Anne’s thighs, her fingers dancing over her flat stomach. “Enjoy buttoning your shirts up to your chin all week.”

“You’re a menace,” Anne growled, craning her neck to catch Ann’s lips. She wasn’t wild about hickeys, but now the skin on her neck felt like it was burning with this proof of Ann’s possession. A shiver ran down her spine as Ann’s hand slipped into her sweats. “Those cold hands.”

“They’ll warm up.”

“In my pants?” Anne laughed.

“I hope so,” Ann purred as she buried her face in the crook of Anne’s neck, her teeth grazing lightly over her pulsepoint. 

Anne closed her eyes, focusing on the gentle strokes on her clit, the warm weight above her, the wet lips on her clavicle. Moaning lowly, she wrapped one arm around Ann’s back, the other snaking between them to cup her breast. Ann moved slowly against her, stoking the flame between them with every roll of her hips, press of her hand, and hum in her throat. She was always making these little noises as she worked, contentment and focus and encouragement all rolled into one. Pressing harder, she caught Anne’s lips in a brushing kiss. 

“Oh, fuck,” she gasped as they parted, “come here, come here.” She moved her hands to Ann’s hips, urging her into a rocking rhythm against her thigh. “Come on, baby.”

Though it was infrequent, Anne loved when her wife was on top. She loved it most, however, when Ann got too worked up to focus on her initial task. There was nothing quite so beautiful as Ann Walker chasing her own release, particularly as she struggled to keep moving between Anne’s legs. 

“That’s right, baby,” Anne husked in her ear, darting her tongue out to trace along the shell of it. “Feels good, doesn’t it?” Ann nodded, breathing heavily into the crook of her neck. “Keep going.” She moved one hand from Ann’s hip to the bulge between her own legs, covering the delicate hand that had lost its pace. She pressed Ann’s hand harder against herself; they moaned in harmony. “There we go, darling girl. Oh, fuck, you look good.”

Ann rut against her thigh determinedly, trying to keep her hand moving between Anne’s legs. Poor thing, Anne though, pressing a kiss to her cheek. 

“It’s okay, baby,” she whispered, pressing her thigh upward, feeling Ann’s heat even through her sweats. “Come for me, Adney. Come on.”

Ann bit her lip, nodding as she moved desperately. Bunching Ann’s shirt up to her collarbones, she took her breast in her mouth; Anne knew how susceptible her wife was to this particular move. After just a few moments, Ann was shuddering above her, collapsing atop her. 

“There she is,” Anne purred in her ear, stroking her back. Their hands were still pinned between them, over Anne’s center, but she repressed her own desire. Focused on the way Ann’s breasts felt against her. The way Ann’s hot breath blew against her skin. The way her hips were still juddering. The - “oh, fuck, Ann, I need you.”

Ann raised herself up, sitting back and restarting her rhythm against Anne’s clit. She was so beautiful, here in the low light, her hair falling wildly around her shoulders, her teeth catching her full bottom lip. That warm desire built in Anne’s stomach again, but she needed more.

“Let me see you,” she whispered.

“Pony -”

“Your chest,” Anne breathed. “Can I -” Reading her mind, Ann pulled her shirt up, catching the tail between her teeth while her free hand massaged her own breast. “Oh God,” Anne moaned. “Oh, my -” Ann teased her nipple. “Holy-” She sped up between Anne’s legs. “Adney,” Anne gasped, reaching up for her; a pale hand covered hers as she took Ann’s breast, moaning at the sensation of it. “Adney.”

Ann grinned, strumming Anne’s clit faster and pressing Anne’s hand more firmly against her. That familiar warmth spread between her legs, suffusing her body as she launched herself into the warm pool of her climax. Ann’s gentle strokes eased her through each wave, until Anne relaxed back with a last shudder. Pulling her hand away from her breast, Ann pressed a soft kiss to the back of it. Anne tugged her hand back, and Ann fell on top of her with a giggle. Anne brought their smiling lips together.

“To your own bed, Adney,” she purred. 

“Will you read to me?” Ann asked softly.

Anne nodded silently, and they parted. After a few minutes in the bathroom and rifling through their suitcases, both women settled into their respective beds. Anne read about a dozen pages before Ann’s gentle snores filled the room. For the rest of the night, Anne dozed peacefully in the narrow bed. A slanting stream of sunlight woke her just after six o’clock. She rolled over and watched Ann sleep for a few minutes. Peaceful and childlike, her hands curled up near her face, her knees bent to her chest. Anne decided she couldn’t wait any longer.

She crept across the room, scooting carefully into the narrow strip of empty bed. Ann rolled over in her sleep, nestling her head into Anne’s chest, wrapping an arm and a leg around her. Anne was able, with a bit of effort, to hoist her more or less on top of herself, which was certainly a relief for her back. With one hand, Anne traced the knobs of her wife’s spine, the soft skin of her back, the shallow divots just above her ass. It was cramped, sure, but Anne had never been happier. More comfortable? Absolutely. More content? Not likely. 

“Pony,” Ann whispered, her eyes still closed; they’d been cuddled up for half an hour, but Ann had barely stirred. “It’s the middle of the night.”

“The sun is up.”

“We’re so far north,” Ann said as she creaked her eyes open, “it’s, like, eternal day. You know? Like in Sweden or whatever.”

“We are not in Sweden,” Anne purred.

“Whatever.”

Ann tilted her chin, and Anne granted her two morning kisses. Sitting up swiftly, Anne twisted to deposit Ann onto the bed, settling between her legs on her belly; she kissed her lips, her chin, the sharp line of her jaw. Travelling lower, she moved over the dark mark on her neck, the swell of her breasts below her shirt, the round curve of her belly. Ann had foregone panties when they finally fell asleep, and Anne found her wet and wanting and ready. 

“Pony,” she moaned as Anne’s tongue found her clit. “Yes.”

Anne grinned against her center, teasing her folds before closing her lips around her clit. She eased a single finger into her warm, clutching depths and was rewarded with a high whine. Ann’s hands were everywhere - the back of her head, the swell of her shoulder, the curve of her own breast. One of her legs dangled off the side of the bed as she spread wider; the other hooked over Anne’s shoulder, her heel pressing into her back. With even, measured strokes, she brought Ann to the edge. Just as she started to teeter, Anne pulled away. 

“Pony,” Ann whined, her eyes desperate and urgent. 

Anne grinned as she fell forward, catching Ann’s lips and stretching a second finger alongside the first. The heel of her hand pressed against Ann’s clit with every stroke, her hips bucking with every thrust, her hands digging into Anne’s back. Ann curled upward as she came, mumbling incoherently. With a gentle hand and soft encouragement, Anne eased her through a shaking, trembling release. 

“Oh, God,” Ann sighed, her chest still heaving. She tugged at Anne’s sweats. “Get these - fuck - get these off.”

With a laugh, Anne vaulted off the bed, nearly ripping her bottoms as she pulled them off. Ann twisted a hand in her t-shirt, pulling her to the edge of the bed with a devious smirk. Anne squinted, tilting her head in question.

“Come here,” Ann whispered.

“I’m right here.”

“Come.” Ann pulled on her shirt. “Here.” Ann tilted her head back.

“Oh.” 

“Oh,” Ann grinned.

Anne gulped. She couldn’t ignore the arousal pumping in her veins, but this position always made her feel a little vulnerable. Out of control. At Ann’s mercy. Which, honestly, was incredibly hot. She climbed gingerly over her, facing the wall so she could grip the headboard. Ann’s hands wrapped around her hips, pulling her down. 

“Oh,” Anne sighed as Ann’s lips met her center. “Oh, fuck, oh, Ann.” 

She couldn’t parse what, exactly, Ann was doing between her legs, but, Good Lord, it was perfection itself. Pleasure built low in her stomach, spreading into her trembling thighs, forcing the most embarrassing, desperate sounds from her lips. With the tiny part of her brain that was not overcome by Ann’s exquisite mouth, she made a note to thank Elizabeth for their secluded room. Because, honestly, Anne was being _loud_. All "Adney" and "yes" and "right there" and strings of expletives. With a final, needy, low moan, she shot over the precipice, shuddering forward as Ann coaxed every last drop of her climax from her. 

“Oh, shit,” Anne sighed, falling backward. “Oh, shit!” She exclaimed as her back hit Ann’s knobby knees. “Shit,” she groaned, shifting to lie between Ann’s legs, her head at the foot of the bed. “Shit, Ann.”

“Say ‘shit’ again,” Ann laughed. 

“One more,” Anne begged. “Let me have you one more time.”

“What?” Ann laughed. 

“Come here,” Anne tugged on her ankles. “Get down here.”

“Oh,” her wife sighed, seeing what she meant to do. “Oh, Pony.”

Anne hovered over her center, biting her lip as Ann’s hot breath brushed against her own. Oh, yes, she would certainly have to thank Elizabeth that there were no screaming children nearby right now. She descended between those creamy thighs she loved so much, working furiously against Ann’s dripping core and the inevitable clock. The literal clock, the one that would beckon them downstairs for breakfast in about an hour, and, of course, the ticking time bomb that was her clit. Aching already, she couldn’t believe how ready she was to come again. Hadn’t Ann just performed miracles there mere moments ago? It didn’t matter, because Anne was careening toward her climax with reckless abandon. If the desperate hands groping her backside were any indication, Ann was just as close. Thrusting her tongue between Ann’s folds, she moaned loudly at the taste of her. That was all it took, it seemed, before Ann was trembling below her, working her tongue sloppily over Anne’s clit until she, too, was a babbling, sweaty, shuddering mess. 

After a beat, Anne managed to shift forward and rest her cheek against the damp sheets, her chest heaving as she traced one hand up and down Ann’s sweaty calf. 

“No more,” Ann panted. “We have to get dressed.”

“Ten times,” Anne said proudly, heaving herself upright and flopping toward the head of the bed. She laid her head against Ann’s soft belly, wrapping her arms around her middle. “Ten times, Miss Walker.”

“What?” Ann stroked her hair, her shoulders, her sweat-slick back.

“Ten kisses between us tonight.”

A pause. Anne knew her wife was calculating.

“Eight,” she said carefully.

“Ten.”

“No,” Ann drawled. “Two before brushing our teeth, two in the middle of the night when I apologized, then four just now. That’s eight, Pony.”

“No,” Anne matched her tone. “One in the library, three before brushing our teeth, two in the middle of the night when you apologized, then four just now. That’s ten, Adney.”

“Okay, so the library was a whole separate thing,” Ann countered, “and I came once before teeth brushing, and you came once, and that makes two.”

“You came twice,” Anne said smugly, her hand tracing along Ann’s arm.

“It was once. One big one,” Ann laughed, “but one.”

“Two separate ones. A regular and a small.”

“Anne,” she reprimanded. “It’s my body. I was there. It was eight.”

“I counted ten,” Anne said simply.

“Pony.”

“Adney.”

“Good _Lord_ ,” Ann sighed, pushing her shoulders until Anne sat up. “You’re ridiculous.”

Anne shrugged with a grin.

“It’s not a competition.” Ann was exasperated as she padded to the bathroom.

Anne hummed noncommittally, crossing the room to take her wife in her arms one more time. 

“I love you, Pony,” Ann smiled, shaking her head, “but you’re impossible.”

“I love you, Adney,” Anne pecked her lips, “but it was ten.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Anne Lister? One day I WILL fight you. This whole dumb thing based on "went to Mariana four times, the last time just before getting up. She had eight kisses and I counted ten." March 16, 1826. So my big brain and I cooked up this scheme about the Ann(e)s having to go to each other in the night. Mariana and Anne didn't always sleep in the same bed, so Anne would have to sneak in for a little action. Thus the twin beds were born. Thennnn I'm wondering how to interpret this "I counted ten" thing; is that Mariana had 8 and Anne had 10? That's nuts. Or is it that they disagreed on the number? I thought the latter would be funny. Now YOU go write ten separate orgasms. It's exhausting! I don't know how Anne and Ann are gonna make it through the day! Nap time incoming. 
> 
> When I tell y'all I wrote six/eight and thought I was done, only to realize it wasn't eight/ten as specified by this nutcase Anne Lister? I was ready to fight. But I persevered. For YOU, damn it! For you.
> 
> Good Lord, there we have it. Thank you for reading! As always, looking forward to your thoughts!


	18. Love and the Art of Sandcastle Construction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I intend to write a nice bit of fluff? Yes  
> Did I mean to include any smut at all? No  
> Did I set out to include spanking in this chapter? Definitely not.  
> Welp... things don't always go according to plan

“I could get used to this,” Anne murmured above her, her arm tightening around Ann’s waist. 

“What’s that?” Ann said into her shirt, each button fastened carefully, though a faint redness peeked out from below the collar. 

“Just sitting in the sun, with you, some light screaming in the background.”

Ann laughed, shaking her head. It was pretty nice, wasn’t it? The late autumn summer warmed their intertwined bodies, stretched out as they were on the Sutherlands’ lounge chairs in the garden. Anne’s book and her own sketchpad were discarded in the grass next to them; they’d been dozing, in and out of sleep, for most of the afternoon. They were both fairly worn out, and Ann was grateful that her wife took even one day to rest. Elizabeth and George were faint shapes in the distance, their children around them forming a silhouette for the perfect family. George had been much more present today, easing Ann’s worries for Elizabeth. He was still a big priggish, she thought, but at least he seemed to be a decent father. 

“The kids _are_ pretty cute.” Ann fiddled with the loops of Anne’s jeans. 

“Don’t get any ideas, Mrs. Lister,” Anne teased, catching Ann’s hand.

“Ideas about what?” Ann looked up into her handsome face.

“Getting into my pants.”

“Oh,” Ann sighed, nuzzling back into Anne’s chest.

“I’ve been thinking about Sackville’s predicament.”

“Have you?” Ann laughed. “What predicament? He’s three.”

“Well, his sand keeps falling apart.”

“It’s sand.” Ann closed her eyes.

“If he had some water,” Anne said thoughtfully, her hand tracing up and down Ann’s spine. She tuned her wife out, allowing her to drone on about sand and water and irrigation. Anne didn’t seem to realize it, but she was quite taken with the little boy. The feeling was certainly mutual. He’d demanded to sit next to Anne at breakfast, then insisted on showing her several objects of supreme importance: a pinecone, his favorite truck, a set of paints he used. Ann tried to pipe in at that point, but he only had eyes for this tall, dark-haired Aunty Lister. “If I’m boring you, darling,” Anne cut into her thoughts, “just tell me.”

“No, no, no, I’m listening.”

“Right,” Anne laughed. “Go back to sleep.”

Ann opened her mouth to respond, but just then she felt a vibration on her left hip. The one pressed against her wife’s hip. She pulled back a fraction. Had Anne packed some new, naughty toy without telling her?

“What’s in your pocket, Pony?” She purred. “Or are you just happy to see me?”

Anne laughed, nudging Ann until she sat up. She fished in her pocket and pulled out her buzzing phone.

“What?” Anne demanded, putting the phone to her ear. “Tib, I - oh, she did? So she came after all?” Ann tried to hear the voice on the other side, but she couldn’t. “Don’t be vulgar. Okay, well - no, don’t thank me. Yes, yes she’s right here.” A pause. Ann furrowed her brows, but Anne just shook her head. “Don’t be vulgar,” Anne said again, this time laughing. “How many days is it now? Sixty-seven. Very good. One day at a - alright, alright, I - okay, we will. Goodbye.”

“What was that?”

“Do you recall,” Anne settled her hands on Ann’s hips, “the girl in my office when you came to meet me?”

“On Friday? Yes, of course.”

“Right, well, I gave her a business card.”

“Okay.”

“For Tib’s store.”

Ann squinted, trying to work out what she was saying. Understanding clicked in her mind, and her jaw dropped. 

“Did you set your student up with Tib?”

“No,” Anne said slowly. “I recommended an eclectic bookstore to her, of which my friend is the owner. Did I know she was precisely Tib’s type? Sure, it crossed my mind.” Anne shrugged. “But they’re consenting adults, what can I do?”

“I guess. I figured Tib would… that girl seemed a little masculine for Tib.”

“Adney, darling,” Anne purred, “Tib spent about five years in love with _me_. She doesn’t mind a little masculinity.”

Ann laughed and kissed her before settling back against her chest, looking out across the garden. The Sutherlands seemed to be making their way back to them slowly, Sackville toddling ahead of the rest. 

“She flirted pretty heavily with me, if you remember,” Ann teased. “I guess I just assumed.”

“Very heteronormative of you,” Anne laughed. “You don’t have to have a butch and a femme, like a man and a woman.”

“I know,” Ann drawled, pinching her side. “I guess I assumed she was madly in love with _me_.”

“And then what? I have to murder her and you visit me in prison? Use your head, Miss Walker.”

Ann leaned up and kissed her, hard, cupping her smirking face in her hands; strong hands squeezed her hips. Forgetting where she was, Ann twisted to straddle one of Anne’s strong thighs. Anne had just slipped one hand under her shirt, when a small voice reached them.

“Aunty Lister!”

They shot apart like they’d been electrocuted. Ann tumbled into the grass, standing clumsily and running a hand through her hair. Anne swung her legs over the side of the chair, leaning down to meet Sackville as he rushed up to her. 

“Aunty Lister! What were you doing?”

“Nothing,” Anne said quickly. “You know, Sackville, I’ve been thinking about your castles.”

“Really?” The boy’s eyes were saucers.

“Yep, come on.” Anne stood, stepping toward the house.

Ann watched them go, smiling as Sackville reached up and put his tiny hand in Anne’s. Her throat constricted. Was this what parenthood felt like? Ann felt certain she wouldn’t be able to survive it. It was hard enough living with her heart in Anne’s strong hands - in the small, grubby, almost-always-sticky hands of a child? No way. She wiped her eyes hurriedly. 

“If I didn’t know better,” Elizabeth teased, appearing at her side, “I’d think you were getting broody.”

“Definitely not,” Ann laughed, “but give me that baby just in case.”

Elizabeth laughed and handed her daughter over. This youngest girl was such a cheerful baby, and Ann adored her, even if she couldn’t understand why Elizabeth had named her daughter Elisabeth. They made their way inside, to the dark drawing room at the back of the house. George was trying to convince his oldest child to take off her sweater. 

“Now, Mary,” he said, his voice bordering on impatience, “you’ll be too warm with this in the house.” 

She shook her head resolutely, plopping to the floor. Ann watched him coax and plead until, finally, she allowed the pink pull-over to be removed. George huffed onto the couch next to his wife, sighing into the ceiling. Ann bit her lip to keep from laughing at his exhaustion; George and Liz certainly were spoiled, weren’t they? Even the slightest effort with their children seemed to wipe them out. 

“When is Brenda back?” 

“Wednesday,” Elizabeth said evenly. “Our nanny is out,” she explained to Ann. “As you can see, we miss her terribly.” 

Ann laughed, studying the way the couple interacted. Elizabeth rubbed his knee, chatting innocuously about the week ahead; her husband visibly relaxed under her touch. They were good together, Ann could admit, even if they didn’t seem to have the fire that she and Anne did. George was still a bit stiff with Anne, but he was getting better. Remembering her wife’s words, Ann repressed the urge to dislike him, judge their relationship, or bring it up to Liz. 

“Sackville’s off with Anne?” Elizabeth turned to her sister. 

“Uh-huh,” Ann nodded. 

“What could they be doing?” George grumbled. Ann tried to ignore the blatant jealousy in his voice. “It’s nearly time for his nap.” 

“Something about the sand, I think,” Ann offered tentatively. 

“Oh, that bloody sand,” Elizabeth laughed. “Will you go fetch them?” 

Ann handed the baby back to her sister and made her way back outside. She was impressed by Liz’s ability to juggle personalities; it seemed so effortless, her cutting George’s annoyance off before it could take root. Perhaps that was the secret of their marriage: Elizabeth could predict and soothe his moods. What did she get out of it? Ann wondered. 

That adorable little boy, she realized, approaching the sandbox. Sackville was chubby in the way all toddlers seemed to be; his dark hair looked golden in the late afternoon sun. He was kneeling in the sand, focusing intently on the plastic bucket he was carefully raising. Anne watched him, a faint smile gracing her lips and a water bottle in her hand. 

“That’s a big castle, Sackville!” 

“’Ank you, Aunty Walker,” the boy said, preening. Anne ruffled his hair. 

“Time to go in, I guess?” Anne stood, brushing sand from her trousers. 

“I’m afraid so.” 

Sackville pouted, but he stood. Taking Anne’s hand, he stepped carefully out of the sandbox. The trio turned back toward the house, and Ann’s heart skipped a beat as a tiny hand found hers. Biting her lip, she struggled to hold back unbidden tears. She imagined how they looked from above: her tall wife leaning slightly to the side so the boy could reach, this sandy child between them with arms reaching high above him, and then herself, chest swelling unexpectedly. This wasn’t her child, she and Anne weren’t even married, but she couldn’t deny the emotions swirling within her. 

“Hey,” Anne said quietly, “what is it?” 

“I am just so,” Ann inhaled, steadying herself, “proud of Sackville’s castle.” 

The boy chattered excitedly between them, but Anne held her gaze. She could always see right through Ann, couldn’t she? Depositing Sackville with his parents, Anne pulled her upstairs. 

“What’s wrong?” She said quietly as they made their way to their room at the end of the hall. 

“Not a thing,” Ann said honestly, tears still welling in her eyes. 

“You’re crying.” Anne sat on the bed and pulled Ann toward her. “What is it?” 

“You love Sackville,” Ann stepped between her spread legs, putting her hands on Anne’s shoulders. 

“Well,” Anne hedged, “I don’t know about-” 

“You do. Where’d you even get a water bottle? Talking about an irrigation system for a sandbox. Getting your jeans all dirty.” 

“You know I like getting dirty,” Anne purred. 

“But I didn’t know how much you like children.” 

“I told you I do.” Anne pulled her closer. 

“I’ve just never seen you… you just seem so natural. Like you actually enjoy being with him.” 

“I guess I do,” Anne breathed against her neck, her lips grazing against her skin. 

“It’s making me - uh, it’s making me think about things.” 

“What kind of things?” Anne’s hands trailed under her shirt, one tracing over her stomach. 

“Well, for starters it’s very hot.” 

“Is it?” Anne grinned. 

“I don’t know what it is,” Ann sighed, “but, really, Pony, it’s very attractive.” 

Anne hummed against her neck, splaying one hand across her back and the other slipping into her bra. Arching her back, Ann pressed into her touch. 

“Now I can't be sure,” Anne pulled her into her lap; with a giggle, Ann’s knees dropped to the bed, bracketing Anne’s legs, “but I have a feeling,” she rolled her hips upward, “I wouldn’t have any trouble getting you pregnant.” 

Ann’s stomach twisted, even as desire built between her legs. She sat back a bit, dodging Anne’s craning neck. 

“I don’t think I want to be pregnant,” she said softly. 

“Oh, Adney,” Anne dropped her hands back to Ann’s hips, her eyes searching Ann’s. “I was just - I mean, it was a come-on.” 

Ann laughed, tension rolling from her shoulders. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Anne asked gently. 

“I don’t know.” Ann teased open the button at her throat, revealing the mark she’d left there last night. “I’m surprised, uh, I guess.” 

“Me too.” Anne kneaded the skin on her hips. “But it hasn’t even been two days, darling.” 

“Right, right,” Ann shook her head, her fingers still fumbling over Anne’s buttons. “It’s just - it’s interesting, you know?” 

“It certainly is,” Ann said quietly. “Seems like you have something else on your mind.” 

“Like I said,” Ann smirked, “it’s all pretty attractive.” 

“I thought you were tired,” Anne nuzzled into her neck. Ann had, in fact, resisted her wife just after lunch, honestly claiming fatigue. Now? She’d never had more energy. 

“Not anymore.” She pushed the shirt from Anne’s shoulders. 

“Is that right?” Anne flicked open her jeans. 

“And I just heard this thing,” Ann sighed, her wife’s hands slipping into her underwear and cupping her behind, “about you getting me pregnant.” 

“Oh yeah?” Anne squeezed her ass, starting a slow, rolling rhythm of their hips. 

“Worth a shot.” 

“Who told you that?” Anne pressed her lips to her neck. 

“This stunningly handsome doctor.” 

“A doctor?” Anne chuckled, standing and lifting her into the air. 

Laughing, Ann draped her arms around her neck. Kneeling at the foot of the bed, Anne tried to lean them back gently, but they ended up tumbling and crashing together. Their lips met messily, Anne’s hands running down her sides and hooking into her waistband. She pulled away, tugging Ann’s jeans and panties down her pale legs. 

“What do you say, Adney?” Anne teased, falling forward to settle between Ann’s legs; she wrapped them around Anne’s narrow hips, pulling her closer. “Shall we give it a go?” 

“What do you think, Dr. Lister?” 

“Oh, I think we have to.” She caught Ann’s lips in a passionate kiss. “Doctor’s orders.” 

Anne pulled back, tugging Ann’s shirt over her head and twisting her bra off with a practiced hand. Ann sighed, leaning back against the headboard. The sight of a shirtless Anne Lister was rather unparalleled. Broad shoulders, the thick straps of her sports bra, the firm lines of her stomach. Ann bit her lip and tugged at her jeans; her wife scrambled off the bed and shucked them, crawling back over her in her shorts. Tilting her chin, Ann wrapped her arms around Anne’s broad back, one hand slipping down to take a handful of her firm backside. 

Their lips met sloppily, Anne’s hand sliding between them to cup her breast. Ann hooked her feet behind Anne’s back, relishing the press of her warm body between her legs. This was all she needed, Ann thought, just Anne, her strong body, her talented hands. Children complicated everything. A person probably couldn’t roll around in bed at four in the afternoon with kids in the house. 

“This bloody bed,” Anne huffed above her, trying to shift on the slim mattress. She sat back on her heels at the foot of the bed. “Damn.” 

“Anne Lister,” she purred, drawing a line down Anne’s chest, over her stomach, to the waistband of her sky-blue boxer-briefs, “I think you’ve gotten lazy in your old age.” 

“In my what?” Anne laughed. 

“Don’t tell me you, the great Anne Lister,” Ann sat up fully, spreading her legs so they hung off the sides, “can’t shag on a twin bed.” 

“I can,” Anne said defensively, “ten times, Miss Walker, have you forgotten?” 

“Eight.” 

“Ten,” Anne leaned forward, her hands on the mattress between them, her lips ghosting over Ann’s. 

“And now you’re inflating the numbers,” Ann teased. 

That’s all it took. Anne pounced, first capturing Ann’s lips in a searing kiss. Wrapping one arm around her back, Anne trailed the other between their bodies, finding Ann’s clit instantly. Sometimes Ann forgot how fucking _good_ Anne was at this. That she was almost preternaturally skilled at pleasing her. That she could send Ann over the edge in a matter of seconds, if she so chose. 

“Pony,” Ann whined, her hands wrapping around Anne’s shoulders. “I need you.” 

“Do you?” Anne purred, her fingertips still circling her clit achingly slowly. “What about my old age?” 

“Please, I -” Ann broke off with a gasp when Anne teased her entrance, then retreated back to her clit. “Come on, Pony, please.” 

“Not a very nice thing to say,” Anne breathed in her ear. “Perhaps I should punish you.” 

“No, no, I’m sorry,” Ann rushed as Anne’s hand pulled away. 

“Perhaps I should have you over my knee.” 

“Okay,” Ann breathed, desperate to do anything so long as Anne would touch her again. 

“Really?” Anne grinned. 

Ann nodded frantically, watching her wife shift to the side of the bed and plant her feet firmly on the floor. She raised her eyebrows. Ann scrambled forward, slipping off the bed to stand next to her. With a reassuring smile and a firm hand on her lower back, Anne bent her forward. The feeling of Anne’s firm thighs under her torso was exquisite; the feeling of being so exposed? Even better. 

“What do you think, my love?” Anne purred above her. “Four?” 

“Yes, Pony, whatever.” Ann could feel her arousal dripping down her thigh. 

Then she heard her wife inhale, followed by the sharp sting against her bum and the sound of a crack in the air. Ann moaned, relishing the contact, pushing back for more. 

“One,” she whispered. 

Another slap. Ann felt the jolt right in the beating, aching core of her. 

“Two.” 

“Very good, Miss Walker.” Anne rewarded her with a brief stroke between her legs. 

Another. Ann couldn’t repress the choked moan if she’d tried. 

“Three.” 

This last slap reverberated through Ann’s entire body. It wasn’t harder than the others, but it rippled through her body like a shockwave. 

“Four,” Ann cried. 

“That’s it,” Anne said soothingly, rubbing her backside gently. “Such a good girl, Adney.” 

“Please, Pony, I -” 

The sharp thrust of Anne’s fingers cut her off. She cried out again as Anne moved quickly, urgently for a few strokes, then pulled away. 

“Wha-” 

Anne was urging her upright, wrapping an arm around her, thrusting back inside, catching her lips. It was too much, in the very best way, and Ann felt her knees buckling already. That strong arm about her waist kept her upright, even as Anne set a punishing rhythm between her legs, pressing firmly to her throbbing clit. 

“You’re a good girl for me, aren’t you, Adney?” 

“Yes,” Ann gasped. 

“You’re close already, aren’t you, Adney?” 

“Yes.” Ann could hear her own voice getting higher, breathier. 

“You’re so wet, baby.” Anne kissed her again, hard and wet and fierce. “Come for me, Adney.” 

“Yes,” Ann whimpered, slumping forward as her climax crashed into her. Her entire body shook, her hips jerking under Anne’s skilled touch. “Yes, Pony, yes, yes, yes.” 

Slowly, she returned to herself, the overwhelming waves of her release ebbing away. Anne was whispering softly in her ear, one hand still around her waist, the other rubbing her back gently. With a sigh, Ann sank into her lap. Their lips met slowly, each of them catching their breath. Just as Ann was getting to her feet, there was a knock at the door. 

Ann froze, eyes darting between her wife and the closed door. Had someone heard? Were they too loud? She was still fully naked. Anne was at least in her underwear, so she stood up and crossed the room, grabbing her jeans on the way. She opened the door just a crack. Frantic, Ann slipped Anne’s discarded shirt over her shoulders, her shaking hands fumbling over the buttons 

“Oh, hello, Elizabeth.” 

“Hello, Anne,” she heard her sister drawl, “and what are you up to?” 

“Nothing,” Anne said too quickly, shifting her body more fully behind the door and stepping into her trousers. 

“Sure sounded like nothing to me.” 

Ann sank onto the bed with a groan. 

“Aha!” Elizabeth pushed the door open. “I knew it!” 

“Liz!” Ann cried. “What if I’d been naked?” 

“I’ve seen you naked before,” Elizabeth shrugged. 

“This is different!” 

“Afternoon delight, huh?” Elizabeth grinned, her eyes travelling between Ann in her wife’s shirt and Anne’s unbuttoned trousers. “I actually didn’t hear anything, but I had my suspicions. I was just coming to tell you we’re eating early tonight, about forty-five minutes.” 

“Liz,” Ann groaned again. 

“I’ll see you then,” Elizabeth winked and disappeared into the hallway. Anne closed the door behind her. 

Ann looked up at her, leaning against the door. The whole thing was so ridiculous. To be caught going at it like that. Like a couple of teenagers. All scantily clad like characters on a sitcom that could only _hint_ at sex. Having just been bent over her wife’s knee in her sister’s house before dinnertime. She started to laugh. 

“Ann!” 

Shaking her head, Ann was unable to control her laughter. It was insane. 

“Ann,” her wife started to laugh too. 

She held her hands out, beckoning Anne to sit with her on the bed. They flopped backward, their heads dangling over the side. The twin beds only made her laugh harder. Anne squeezed her hand, their laughter mixing together, filling the room. Anne Lister had made her lose her mind. She’d never been happier. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Tib and Pic? Am I literally insane for seeing them together? I'm bracing for impact on that one. I'll give a little justification. I think Tib has gotten sober since the last time we saw her (67 days Anne mentions). Tib was into Anne, so she's not strictly attracted to femmes. That feels true to IRL Tib as well. Pic is an adult, even if she is Anne's student. Plus, like, wouldn't it be fun for the four of them to go out together? Am I off my rocker?
> 
> According to the one document from lightcliffechurchyard.org.uk that I'm using as reference, Elizabeth named her daughter Elisabeth, which is, like, strange to me? But just so y'all know the spelling change is intentional. 
> 
> Thank you for reading and following along as this story spirals into I-don't-even-know-what. I sure am having fun, and I hope y'all are too. Your feedback is so, so appreciated.


	19. Speechless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shaky frame narrative? In MY story? It's more likely than you think

“Do you still think George is sexy?” Ann turned to her sister.

“What?” Elizabeth laughed.

They were lounging in the dark sitting room, the television droning in the background. George had gone upstairs to put Sackville to bed, and Anne was out with Mary doing God-knows-what in the garden. Dinner had actually been fairly pleasant, and Ann was now actively trying to find reasons to like her brother-in-law. He could be funny, when he tried, and he spoke carefully and thoughtfully. She did wonder, though, about their sexual chemistry; did Liz and George ever sneak upstairs, driven by a need that couldn't wait? Had they done all the dirty things she did with Anne? Were they just tired of them now or had they never had that spark in the first place?

“Do you find George sexy?” Ann said with a blush. She knew she could ask Elizabeth these questions without fear of judgment, but it was still a little awkward. 

“Honestly,” Elizabeth sighed, “we’ve been married seven years? Three kids? The sexiest thing he’s done lately was hide Sackville’s drum.”

Ann laughed and shook her head. Maybe that’s just how married people were. Would she and Anne be like that in March? She hoped not.

“It’s not all about sex, Annie,” her sister said gently.

“No, I know. I know.”

“I guess you find Lister very sexy.” Elizabeth’s voice was low, teasing. 

“Sure,” Ann laughed, embarrassed. “Of course.”

“I think that’s very sweet. I’m glad you have that.”

“I wish you did too! That’s - it’s just - I want you to be as happy as I am.”

“I’m happy in my own way,” Elizabeth said evenly. “And George is still sexy when he wants to be. Surprising. You know.”

“When’s the last time he surprised you?”

“Just now,” Elizabeth laughed, “when he offered to put his son to bed.”

Ann shook her head. Perhaps everything changed once you became a parent, and sex took a backseat. Add that to the ‘con’ column, she thought. 

“When’s the last time Lister surprised you?”

“Oh, uh,” Ann shook her head again, blushing. “I don’t know.”

“It’s something dirty, isn’t it?” Elizabeth’s eyes gleamed with interest. 

“Liz!”

“What was it? The PG version. Okay, PG-13.”

Ann bit her lip, considering. She did want to share this story with someone. Anne had made her swear never to tell Marian, and Catherine had been only mildly impressed with it. That might have had more to do with Ann’s sanitized version of the story, even though Catherine and Anne were quite friendly now. Ann just wasn’t comfortable with anyone like she was with Elizabeth. And now she seemed so excited, all leaning forward and raising her eyebrows. Ann inhaled.

“It was about a month ago.”

“Uh-huh,” Elizabeth grinned.

“A while back, like in the spring, we’d made this list. A, uh, a list of things we wanted to -” Ann stopped, realizing she really shouldn’t have brought that bloody list up.

“Like a sex list?” Elizabeth whispered. 

“No! Yes - ugh! Whatever!” Ann laughed, covering her face with her hands. “Yes, kind of. Well,” she sighed, “one of the things was Anne playing the guitar.”

“Very sexy,” Elizabeth nodded.

“And I really thought she had forgotten, you know? Because it had been so long. And then there was this Saturday, and I was at the soup kitchen with Marian.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And Anne texted me to come to the studio when we got home.” Ann had told her sister about the chaumière, but she always called it ‘the studio.’ It felt a bit pretentious to   
say ‘chaumière.’ “So I did, and she had all these candles, um, and it was dark in there, but I could see she, uh, she had a guitar.”

Elizabeth hummed in appreciation. Ann traveled back to that day, the way her stomach flipped when she saw Anne perched on the hearth, an acoustic guitar in her lap. She wore all black, a bright pink guitar strap around her shoulder; Ann smiled at the dash of color, the color Anne always said was reserved for her. The flickering candlelight illuminated her face. The bright flash of Anne’s grin. The dancing glint of her eyes. That guitar. Oh God, that guitar. 

“So I sat down on the couch in there, and she strummed the guitar. I - honestly, Liz, I couldn’t believe how it affected me. And, uh, and then she did this thing with her chin, so I went over and - you know, and I kissed her. Her guitar pick dug into my back when she grabbed my hip. And, uh, uh, then I sat back down.”

Ann decided not to mention the way Anne’s tongue slid into her mouth, the way she growled as Ann pulled away, the way she licked her lips as Ann sat down across from her. She definitely didn’t tell her sister how wet she already was. 

“And she sang this song, uh, by this American guy, I think, and it was - well, it was really cute. She has this kind of low, smokey voice, and she was so nervous about it. I could tell because she kept biting her lip and watching her hands as she played. Which, you know, that was pretty hot too.”

Elizabeth laughed and nodded appreciatively.

“So she strums a little bit, and then she starts to sing. I, uh, hold on.” Ann pulled up the song on her phone, playing it for Elizabeth, but allowing herself to remember Anne’s voice instead. The song was upbeat, a little bit of a country twang, and Anne had played it with such joy, enthusiasm, swagger. Pure pleasure. She kept time with the tapping of her sock-clad foot; these, too, were pink.

“ _Step back, baby, and don’t be shy  
Drive me crazy, blow my mind_” 

Anne had looked up and winked, then back to her instrument.

“ _Go on strut your stuff.  
Let my eyes get a taste  
Of what my hands can hardly wait  
To get a hold of_.”

Ann had bit her lip, sitting on her hands to keep herself from pouncing forward and knocking that fucking guitar to the floor so she could take her rightful place in Anne’s lap, in her arms, under the skillful movements of her hands. Anne had looked up again, the song picking up speed; she moved her head with the rhythm, clearly enjoying herself. The lyrics dripped from her lips like honey.

“ _Sugar, you’re sexy to the bo-o-one  
Even your shadow turns me on, oh_.”

Anne’s leg bounced in time with the song, a wide grin taking up her entire face as she moved to the chorus. Her low voice took on a bit of a twang, crooning like a hound dog at the moon. Ann wasn’t sure how she was still able to hear the song with her blood pumping so loudly in her ears.

“ _If these walls could talk,  
They’d have ‘Good God Almighty’ sittin’ on the tip of their tongue.  
‘Cause you ain’t nothin’ but good-lookin’.  
If these walls could talk,  
They’d be dyin’ to tell somebody  
About your breathtakin’ body,  
But they couldn’t - no,  
‘Cause if these walls could talk_”

Anne paused, shooting a wink at Ann that made her heart stop, her clit pulse.

“ _Darlin’ they’d be speechless._ ”

Anne’s voice was a soft purr, her eyes smoldering across the room. Was it possible to come without being touched? From sound alone? Ann was about to find out. 

“This is a cute song,” Elizabeth broke into her memory.

“Yeah,” Ann breathed. “It was, uh, yeah.”

“Did you shag her right then?”

“I wanted to, but she was like,” she made her voice low in approximation of her wife’s: “‘I learned another verse, sit down!’ It was torture.”

Ann bit her lip as her sister laughed and the song played on, remembering the fiendish grin on Anne’s face as she eased into the second verse. Anne was enjoying herself properly now, standing and tapping her heel in rhythm. Her hips gyrated behind the guitar, and Ann’s mouth ran dry.

“ _Lay down, darlin’,  
Strike a pose,  
I’ll be Jack, and you be Rose_” 

Anne stopped, stomping her foot forcefully, thrusting her hips under the guitar.

“ _We gonna rock. This. Ship._

She started strumming again; Ann’s heart pounded in her chest, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the couch to keep herself from shooting off into space.

 _Let me trace every inch,  
Of your smooth, velvet skin  
With my fin-ger-tips.  
I’m gonna kiss that bashful smile_”

Anne stepped closer, her breath impossibly huskier.

“ _Love on you for more than a little while_ ”

“Hot,” Elizabeth said saucily. 

“I know!” Ann laughed, “and she was all in my face by that point, so I - well, I had to kiss her.”

“Obviously.” Elizabeth nodded seriously.

“And then she turned away! She sang the chorus again!”

“What a bastard,” Elizabeth laughed, throwing her head back and clapping her hands.

Ann sank back into her memory as the song finished. Anne strutting away, her low voice filling the chaumière. All attempts to coax her back were fruitless. Ann was trapped, watching helplessly. The slope of her shoulders. The firm curve of her ass under her jeans. Those shockingly pink songs encasing her toes, tapping right along. The pink gash across her back, marking her as Ann’s. The careful movements of her hands. Ann swallowed dryly. Those hands.

“ _If these walls could talk,  
They’d have ‘Good God Almighty’ sittin’ on the tip of their tongue,  
‘Cause you ain’t nothin’ but good-lookin’._”

It was at this point that Ann's reserve broke. She started to unbutton her jeans, pushing them slowly down her hips; Anne watched, her fingers never faltering over the strings as she sauntered closer. Her voice kept getting lower.

“ _If these walls could talk,  
They’d be dyin’ to tell somebody,  
About your breathtakin’ body,  
But they couldn’t,_”

Jeans pooled around her feet, Ann pulled her shirt over her head. Anne slung the guitar off, closing the distance between them, still crooning. 

“ _’Cause if these walls could talk,  
Darlin’ they’d be speechless._

On the last word, Anne had popped her voice up on the first syllable, back down for the last; her grin so wide and delighted and mischievous it made Ann’s chest hurt. Ann hit pause on her phone, her face flushed at the memory of what came next.

“So then you shagged her?” 

Could Ann tell her sister about the way Anne had nearly ripped her underwear from her body? How she’d pushed Ann to the floor and brought their lips together in such a passionate kiss that Ann had to break away just to gasp oxygen into her lungs? Could Ann even find the words to express the way it felt to have Anne’s tongue in her mouth, her hand on her breast, her sharp pelvis locked against her own? There was no way she could describe to Elizabeth, or anyone else, the way the cool floor of the studio felt against her back; the English language did not have the capacity to articulate the contrast with Anne’s warm body above her, her strong hands caressing her, the rough fabric of her jeans pressing between Ann's legs and over her thigh. 

It would be impossible to find the words to adequately express the emotion that spread in her chest as Anne continued to sing softly in her ear, one hand trailing between them to stroke the shivering, needy core of her. The private concert had worked her up well enough already, and it took only a handful of Anne’s precise movements, delicate kisses, and filthy words to send her over the edge.

“Right there on the couch?” Elizabeth’s voice brought her back to reality.

"Not on the couch..."

"On the _floor_?" Elizabeth's jaw hung open, her eyes wide.

“At first,” Ann said shyly.

“Oh my God!” Elizabeth crowed. “Oh, I love this for you. What happened next?”

“Well, it’s - I mean, it’s kind of personal.”

“Ann Walker,” her sister said sternly, “you have watched me give birth and poop on a table. Did you shag her again?”

“Yes,” Ann said with a laugh. “There’s actually a little bedroom out there -”

“Uh-huh,” Elizabeth smiled knowingly.

“So we went in there and…”

Ann trailed off, remembering how it felt to stand on shaky legs and back Anne into the bedroom. Her wife’s shoulders were so broad under her black collared shirt; the black jeans Ann pushed over her slim hips were so Johnny Cash they made Ann ache even more. They’d fallen into bed, limbs tangling and searching and grasping. Anne was so wet, hovering over her and breathing heavily against her neck. No one in the world could understand what it meant to have Anne Lister in this way, to unravel her stroke by stroke, to taste the salty sweat along her neck, to hold Anne Lister, the Great and Powerful, in the safe circle of her arms until she, too, was collapsing and trembling and gasping. 

“I guess all those stories about her are true,” Elizabeth teased, “based on the look on your face.”

Ann chuckled helplessly, her mind flooding with the images of Anne’s dark head buried between her legs; she’d gone down on Ann for what felt like hours. The tongue of Anne Lister - there was something poetic there. Something about the way she spoke and the way she made love. The interwoven strands of Anne’s command of language, her prolific writing, her quick wit, her skill as a lover. There was a connection there, but Ann couldn’t parse it. All she could do was mew and writhe and plead for “right there,” for “more,” for “Pony.” Finally, she had begged for mercy, pulling Anne’s smug, smirking face back up to her own. Their mouths danced together, the heady taste of Ann’s arousal passing between them. There were too many delicious sensations at once: Anne’s thick hair between her fingers, their breasts pressing together, the slick slide of their sweaty skin, her sharp teeth catching Anne’s bottom lip as she pulled away. 

“Oh, yeah,” Elizabeth interrupted again. “She’s amazing. Look at you.”

“Shut up!” Ann cried, laughing and burying her head in her hands.

“One little song, huh? Good to know.”

“Well then she sang again!” Ann looked up. “She scrambled out of bed and got the guitar from the other room. And she - it was really sweet.”

“What’d she sing?”

“That old ‘Baby, I’m Yours’ song, you know? She said she’d found the chords online. The Arctic Monkeys did a cover of it, so she could get the chords for guitar.”

“That’s who she reminds me of! Alex Turner. All brooding and the dark clothes and Yorkshire. Oh, yeah,” Elizabeth grinned, sinking low in her seat, “that’s hot.”

Ann shook her head, unable to suppress her grin at the memory. Anne had been so proud of herself, had begged for the opportunity to show off the other song she’d learned. 

“I thought it’d take more than one song to get into your pants, Miss Walker,” she’d teased, sitting back on the bed, cross-legged, with the guitar in her lap. 

Ann wanted to have some pithy comeback, but she was mesmerized. Her wife, naked, slowly strumming a guitar? Cause of death: Anne Lister. And then she opened her mouth.

“ _Baby, I’m yours,  
And I’ll be yours until the stars fall from the sky,_”

Anne’s voice was soft, husky and crooning. She almost seemed shy like this, her eyes focused on the movements of her fingers. Her heart swelled at the sight, but Ann could only sit back and watch.

“ _Yours, until the rivers all run dry,  
In other words, until I die,_”

“Which better be never!” Ann interjected. 

Looking up for only a moment, Anne grinned and shook her head. 

“ _Baby, I’m yours,  
And I’ll be yours, until the sun no longer shines,  
Yours until the poets run out of rhyme,  
In other words, until the end of time._”

Ann leaned forward and kissed her, slow and gentle; Anne pulled away with a chuckle.

“Let me finish!” She turned her attention back to her guitar. 

“ _I’m gonna stay right here,  
By your side,  
Do my best to keep you satisfied._

At her wife’s sultry look, Ann threw her head back and laughed. As if she could ever be less than satisfied sharing a bed with Anne Lister.

“ _Nothin’ in this world can drive me away,  
‘Cause every day you will hear me say,_”

Her voice cracking on the last line, Anne paused to lean forward and kiss her again, this time a little longer. Ann whimpered as she pulled away. 

“ _Baby, I’m yours  
And I’ll be yours until two and two is three,  
Yours until the mountain crumbles to the sea,  
In other words, until eternity._”

“If you don’t get over here,” Ann had growled, swallowing the lump in her throat and taking her wife’s handsome face in her hands.

Grinning, Anne had tossed the guitar to the side and leaned forward to catch Ann’s lips again. She’d pressed Ann back into the pillows, their lips meeting slowly and sensually over and over again. Their bodies molded together, the hills and valleys of her own form fitting perfectly against Anne’s. They’d entered a universe of their own making, all soft skin and gentle murmurs and slick lips. 

There was certainly no way that Ann could explain this to another person, even as Elizabeth looked at her expectantly. The connection of their bodies was indescribable, the press of their wet cores as their legs intertwined. There was nothing like this, even with Anne; nothing so intimate and primal and incredible as touching and being touched in this way. Especially not with the way Anne nuzzled into the crook of her neck, the way her back fit into Ann’s arms, the way their arousal slipped together. Ann was in awe of her wife’s body, her rippling muscles and sharp jaw and dexterous hands; she moaned wantonly, not even trying to hold back as their hips moved in unison. Anne’s lips had found her neck, her own low moans and groans vibrating against Ann’s slick skin. They’d come almost at the same moment, coaxed over the edge by Anne’s sure fingers. 

“Wasn’t shagging anymore was it?” Elizabeth said softly.

Biting her lip, Ann shook her head. She held her sister’s gaze for a beat, and then Elizabeth stood. 

“It’s quite lovely to see.” Elizabeth squeezed her shoulder. “Go get her. And my daughter too,” she laughed, “it’s past nine o’clock.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> "Speechless" by Walker Hayes came up during my run this morning, and this idea would not leave my head. This story has broken my brain. I used to hear songs and picture, like, myself using them for seduction. Now? I'm like this is PERFECT for Anne Lister. Good Lord.
> 
> Highly recommend the Arctic Monkeys version of "Baby, I'm Yours." I'm not much for songfics in general, but this is now the third time I'm doing it? Hypocrite. 
> 
> Thank you for reading and leaving your feedback. It truly means the world to me, and y'all help me work out parts of the story and see the characters in new ways. It's amazing.


	20. One Big One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder: I know less than nothing about 5-year-old children. Cut me some slack.

Anne Lister did not like games. As a rule. Yes, she had been known to dabble in cards and backgammon and some very contentious Scrabble on occasion. But if you asked her, she would renounce them as youthful dalliances; the backgammon was strictly for Ann’s sake. Time spent playing games was a waste, better used for reading or gardening or writing or any other thing. So she said.

Thus, her leaning against the wall at the back of the Sutherlands’ home was _not_ her playing hide and seek with a five-year-old. It was...well, there wasn’t another way to put it, was there? She was. Playing. Hide and seek. With a five-year-old. And, honestly? She was enjoying it. She’d started out going easy on little Mary, but the child was preternaturally good at it. When it started getting properly dark, Anne had tried to coax her inside, but the little girl wasn’t tired yet. The glow from the bright house bathed the garden in a soft yellow, the dark night turning to a deep blue. Fearing she’d actually, seriously lose her in the dim light, Anne had agreed to hide and let Mary find her; she’d set up very specific parameters, and the little girl never left her sight or hearing. She’d felt foolish at first, creeping away to hide while a child covered her eyes and counted as high as she could (fifty-eight), but now she was enjoying it. 

“Hi, baby,” Ann’s soft voice seemed impossibly loud in the still night. “What are you-”

Anne shushed her, gesturing at her to back up. 

“What is it?” Ann whispered, coming closer and running her hands along Anne’s chest.

“I’m hiding,” Anne hissed. “Go away.”

“What?” Ann laughed. “Hiding from whom?”

Ann’s hands slipped to her waistband, fiddling with her belt buckle. Anne caught her hands, silencing the damning clinking. Ann laughed again, her eyes dancing with mischief in the low light. 

“Come on, Pony,” she nuzzled into Anne’s neck. “I was just thinking about -”

“She’s going to find me,” Anne said urgently, looking over her shoulder. Ann took this opportunity to press her lips to Anne’s warm skin. “Ann, please!”

“Do you remember when you sang to me?” Ann purred, “you are so sexy.”

“Found you!” Mary’s tiny voice called out. Anne saw her small body approaching. 

“Shit,” Ann hissed, fumbling over her belt. 

“Go,” Anne whispered back, “I’ll do this.”

Ann scurried away, and Anne sagged back against the wall, closing her belt and catching her breath. Straightening, she rounded the corner to see her wife and an extremely pleased little girl.

“I found you, Aunty Lister!” 

“I know.” Anne snapped her fingers dramatically. “Darn!”

“And I found Aunty Walker, so I think I should get bonus points for that.”

“You’re right,” Ann said, smirking at her wife. “Does that mean you beat Aunty Lister?”

“Yes!” Mary said happily.

They trotted inside, and Anne didn’t even try to argue. They hadn’t been keeping score, so technically… no, she’s a child, Anne scolded herself. She watched her wife with the little girl as they made their way upstairs. It was biological, wasn’t it? This stirring in her gut? The evolutionary need to procreate. Her desire for Ann morphing into a desire for children. 

And yet, as she hovered in the doorway watching the Walker sisters ready Mary for bed, she couldn’t ignore the way she felt. The proud swelling of her chest at the child’s clear affinity for her wife. The strange constriction of her throat as she saw Ann’s lips connect with the girl’s forehead. The laughter bubbling in her throat as Elizabeth nudged her on the way out.

“9:30 is pretty late for a five-year-old,” she chided. 

“I lost track of time,” Anne shrugged. “I’m sorry.”

“I’ll forgive you this once, Lister, but only,” Elizabeth paused dramatically, “if you sing for me.”

“What?” Anne furrowed her brows.

“Liz, stop,” Ann hissed. 

“Good night, Listers,” Elizabeth winked. 

Anne took her wife by the waist and led her down the hallway. 

“And what was that about?”

“Who can remember?” Ann said helplessly, smiling innocently up at her.

“You’re very mysterious, Mrs. Lister.”

Rolling her eyes, Ann closed the bedroom door behind them and leaned against it. Anne could never resist her up against a door. Closing the distance between them in a single step, Anne pressed her back against the thick wood. She ghosted her lips over Ann’s for a moment before bringing them together, doing what she wished she’d done out there in the dark night. If it hadn’t been for Mary, Anne would’ve been more than happy to take her wife right there, under the dark Scottish sky. 

“Take me to bed,” Ann breathed, running her hands up and down Anne’s arms. 

“You know, I’ve been thinking,” she whispered, leading Ann to the closest twin bed, “about what you said this morning.”

“What did I say this morning?” Ann sat down, her nimble hands finding Anne’s belt for the second time tonight. 

“About ‘one big one.’ Eight,” Anne wrapped her hands around that pale neck, pressing Ann’s chin up with her thumbs, “rather than ten.”

“Yes,” Ann breathed, tugging Anne a half-step forward, her hands now twisted in the open front of her trousers. 

“So I think, perhaps, I’ve been going about it all wrong.”

“What?”

“If you don’t care about coming multiple times,” Anne stroked her thumbs along the sharp line of her wife’s chin, “then I guess I won’t work so hard for it.”

“What?” Ann laughed, incredulous. 

“If you’re not going to appreciate me,” Anne pulled away, “why bother?”

“What?” Ann cried, following her into the bathroom. 

Smiling to herself, Anne went about her nightly routine, playfully avoiding Ann’s eyes in the mirror. She washed her hands, her face, then picked up her toothbrush.

“Pony,” Ann whined, “of course I appreciate you. Are you upset with me?”

Anne just kept brushing her teeth.

“Pony! I was teasing. I didn’t mean it. Of course, I -”

After she spit, Anne turned to her wife, putting her hands on her waist. 

“I know, Adney, I know.”

“So we can-”

“Get ready for bed, Adney.”

Anne sauntered away, stripping off her clothes and finding their favorite black box. She lounged on the far bed in only the harness and her sports bra, watching her wife perform her ablutions. Anne had been thinking about this all day, teasing her wife to the edge over and over without pushing her over that final cliff. “One big one,” as Ann had said this morning. That was all she intended to allow this evening; the idea thrilled her. 

“You look incredible,” Ann said, turning off the bathroom light. “Fuck, Pony, really. Do you have any idea how hot you are?”

“Maybe,” Anne purred, standing and pulling Ann’s shirt over her head. “When you look at me like that, I have a pretty good idea.”

She brought their lips together gently, unzipping Ann’s jeans and slipping them down her hips. Kneeling, Anne ran her hands down her wife’s pale legs, lifting her feet gingerly out of the trousers; she kissed the tops of her thighs, her hips, her belly, before removing Ann’s panties the same way. 

“Pony,” came the soft sigh from above. 

Spreading her legs, Ann stroked Anne’s head, scratching her nails gently across her scalp. It was one of Anne’s favorite feelings. Almost as good as running her tongue through her wife’s slick folds, tasting exactly how much she wanted her. She worked slowly, teasing Ann’s clit to an aching hardness. The pressure on her shoulders increased as Anne’s pace increased, her lips, tongue, and teeth working Ann’s center, while gentle moans spilled from her lips. Just as Ann’s thighs started to tremble under her hands, Anne pulled away.

“What?” 

“Earlier today,” Anne said, heaving herself upright, “you said two orgasms were the same as one.”

“Pony.”

“So, you know,” Anne shrugged, “instead of coming a bunch of times, how about you just come once?”

“Pony!”

“What do you think, darling? Your words.”

Anne watched her wife process, her desperate need translate to petulance then to disappointment then, finally, to defiance. Ann sat on the edge of the bed, spreading her legs again. 

“I think,” Ann leaned back, “I’ll take that challenge.”

“Okay,” Anne purred. “Game on.”

Leaning down, Anne brought their lips together, planting one hand on the narrow bed, the other around Ann’s back, and leaning her into the mattress. Their kiss was sloppy, Ann’s hands running up and down her back, Anne snaking one between them. Bypassing her clit entirely, Anne teased her entrance, slipping inside and drawing low sighs and bucking hips. She straddled one of Ann’s thighs; the other hooked around her hip, urging Anne closer. 

“Pony,” she moaned, “Pony, yes, oh God, yes.”

“Already?” Anne grinned, sliding another finger inside. “It’s going to be a long night, Miss Walker.”

Ann groaned, her fingers tightening around Anne’s shoulders.

“Pace yourself, Adney. One big one, eh?” Ann nodded weakly. “Oh, it’s going to be so good.”

“Yes,” Ann whined, biting her lip as Anne’s hand moved faster, harder. “It’s good,” she panted, “it’s so good, Pony. Please, I -” 

“Oh no,” Anne pulled away and stood up; she'd felt the telltale fluttering in Ann's core. “None of that, Miss Walker.”

“Anne,” she whined softly, her eyes wide and focused on the strap Anne was affixing between her legs. “Come on. I need it.”

“I bet you do,” Anne purred, “and you’ll get it. Just not yet.”

Ann reached up for her, and Anne sank down between her legs again. Wrapping a hand around the base of her cock, Anne dragged it through the arousal pooling between Ann’s legs. She could feel Ann’s eyes glued to her, and she looked up with a smirk. Ann was propped on her elbows, her chest heaving and flushed pink, gentle rolls of her soft belly giving way to the light thatch of blonde hair. Shifting forward, Anne slid her cock in slowly, reveling in the deep moan rumbling out of Ann’s throat. 

“Yes, Adney,” she purred, “you look so good. You take me so well.”

She whimpered as Anne’s hips met the inside of her thighs; pale arms wrapped around Anne’s back, slim legs around her waist. Anne began thrusting slowly, shallowly, unable to look away from Ann’s desperate face. She’d caught her bottom lip between her teeth, eyes half-lidded, her face a study in concentration. Dropping her head, Anne pressed her lips to her neck, her chin, the sharp jut of her clavicle. She started a gentle, shallow rhythm with her hips. 

“Pony, I - I’m so close, Pony.”

Anne nipped at her jugular, amazed at her wife’s body; was she really on the edge already? Anne knew the strap worked for her, but this much? With barely a brush to her clit? Anne started moving faster, thrilled by the possibility of sending her wife over the edge like this. She decided to take mercy on the poor girl, relieving all this pressure, giving in to her needs. But then Ann was pulling away, pushing herself up to the headboard, panting and gasping.

“Adney?”

“I was - fuck, I think I was about to -”

“Oh, Ann,” she smiled, crawling forward, “you are so good for me.”

“I’m - wait, Anne,” Ann was still panting, her head falling back helplessly as Anne wrapped her hands around her hips, “if you touch me, I’ll -”

“It’s okay,” Anne purred, bending down to lie flat on her belly, the strap pressing into her skin, her face just inches from Ann’s core. “Let me make it better, baby. Let me take care of you.”

“Not if -” Ann moaned as Anne’s tongue teased her folds again, “not if that’s it.”

“That's not it, baby,” Anne kissed her quivering clit. “I think you’ve earned it.”

“Oh, fuck,” Ann whined as Anne took her between her lips. “Yes, Pony, God, yes, yes, yes.”

Ann curled forward, her thighs tensing, her core fluttering, her fingers clenching in Anne’s hair. Firm hands on bucking hips, Anne eased her through the trembling, the shaking, the gasping. 

“Anne,” she sighed, falling backward with a thump.

Anne sat back on her heels, considering the sweaty, heaving, sated heap that was her wife. She’d really meant to drag this out much longer. To tease and tease and tease until it was almost unbearable. And Ann had been willing, eager. Anne had just given up? Had taken one look at her needy eyes and heard her urgent cries and - what? Just bowed down. Anne clicked her tongue.

“I’m glad you’re not in my class.”

“What?” Ann’s eyes opened a crack.

“Or a tenant of mine or an employee. You run rings around me.”

Ann laughed and shook her head, tilting her chin. Reconnection and joy and love flowed between their lips, gratitude and happiness in the tips of their fingers as they caressed jaws and shoulders and necks. Ann pulled away, smiling coyly. 

“So that’s it? We go to bed?”

“No fucking way,” Anne grinned, scrambled to the floor, and pulled a giggling Ann to the foot of the bed. “How about you turn over?”

That wide-eyed look flashed across her face, and then Ann was turning, her white back flashing in the light. Anne pushed her hair to one side, traced a hand along her spine, took a handful of her rear end. Pushing back, Ann shimmied her hips. Anne spanked her once.

“Shameless,” she purred. 

Ann’s tinkling laughter was cut short by another spank. A soft moan took its place.

“But I think you’ve had enough of that today, don’t you?”

A quiet mew.

“Coming onto me out in the garden?” Anne traced her fingers through her wife’s wetness. “Dirty girl.”

“Wanted you,” came the muffled reply. 

“And then you had me,” Anne thrust two fingers inside, “even when I meant to make you wait.”

Another muffled answer.

“What’s that?” Anne was stroking evenly now, her thumb pressing against Ann’s puckered hole.

“You - unh, you can’t - mmmm, Pony, you - you can't resist me.” 

Anne laughed, pulling out and spanking her once more. Had she ever wanted anyone more? Ever been so desperate to please? So addicted to the sight, sound, and taste of another person? Impossible. 

A pillow hit her squarely in the chest. 

“What?” She sputtered.

“Pony,” Ann whined, lifting her hips.

“Oh my _God_ ,” Anne groaned. “I have fully, thoroughly ruined you.”

“Yes,” Ann sighed as she slid the pillow under her hips. 

“Spoiled rotten,” Anne said with a wide grin, dragging her cock through Ann’s arousal. “Naughty, naughty girl.”

“Yes.”

“Begging for it.” 

Anne pressed forward.

“Yes.”

“Needing it.” 

Anne’s eyes were glued to Ann’s clutching center, the dripping core that was greedily accepting inch after inch.

“Yes.” 

Ann’s knuckles were almost as white as the bedsheets she was gripping.

“Needing me.”

“Yes.” 

Ann’s voice was higher than normal, her hands twisting and clutching.

“Made for this.” 

Anne’s hips touched that round backside.

“Yes.” 

No more than a breath.

“Made for me.”

“Pony.”

A perfect answer, Anne decided, wrapping her hands around slim hips and fitting her thumbs in those divots she loved so well. She pulled back, smiling as more and more of their pink silicone appeared; pushing back in, she was struck by the use of this pronoun. “Their.” It was hers, sure, _her_ cock. But it belonged to Ann as well. Hadn’t she bought it? Anne started a deep, slow rhythm. Ann had bought it, packed it, usually she was the one who asked for it and, if she was physically able, got up to clean it after. It would be just as ridiculous for Anne to use it with someone else as for Ann to do the same. It belonged to both of them, just like the bed at Shibden, the ring on Ann’s finger, the intertwined future stretching before them.

“Pony,” Ann broke into her musings, “faster.”

“Oh, Adney,” she purred, her hips ratcheting up in speed, her knees knocking against the unfamiliar footboard. “Telling me what to do?” 

A muffled moan. Insistent hips pressing back. 

Anne pumped faster, fingers digging into that supple skin she loved so much. She considered moving a finger between Ann’s cheeks, but she couldn’t give up the feeling of her hips in her hands. Her own desire was building, a swirling inferno in her gut. It was everything she loved best. The slap of their skin meeting. The smooth skin in her hands. The tight clench of Ann’s core. The friction of the harness against her clit. Ann’s back: flushed and curved and moving back into every thrust. Her golden curls, pushed to one side. Her pleasure-streaked face, pressing into the sheets. Without easing the pistoning of her hips, Anne bent forward, kissing her sweaty neck, between her shoulder blades, along her spine.

“Pony!” Ann cried, trying to raise herself on shaky arms. “Pony, I -“

“I know, baby.” Anne reaches around, finding Ann’s clit and pressing firmly. “You’re ready, aren’t you?”

A choked moan. A desperate press of the hips. A clenching of every muscle. 

Oh, and it was heaven. The way Ann’s hips twisted and her mouth opened and her core squeezed around their cock. It was every single thing, and Anne couldn’t stop her stroking and thrusting and strumming and pumping. She needed more, all of it, every drop that Ann had to give. 

And finally when Ann collapsed, her entire body relaxing, Anne felt a strange sense of loss. Her wife was blissed out again, the pleasure and the physicality of it all overwhelming her frail system. Anne made a note of the time, pulled out, washed the strap, stored it, sat on the edge of the bed opposite her wife with urgency. Her legs bounced with pent-up energy. Desire coursed through her veins. Need for Ann’s touch infiltrated her bones. She couldn’t, though; she wouldn’t. Touch herself, that is. It wouldn't be as good without Ann. The one hundred and thirteen seconds it took her to roll over, blink her tired eyes open, and smile sleepily - it was an eternity. 

“Hey,” Ann’s voice was husky and rough. 

“Hey.”

“Good heavens,” Ann chuckled.

“Indeed.”

“You must be dying.”

“What?” 

“You’re sitting on your hands. The whole room is jiggling with your leg.”

Anne looked down, halfway embarrassed by her need.

“You’re so good to me,” Ann said quietly, heaving herself upright. “God, it’s like,” she knelt between Anne’s legs. “It’s like - I can’t even find the words.”

“Ann-“ A whimper. A breath. A plea.

“Okay,” Ann kissed the insides of her knees. “I love you.”

Ann’s tongue met her center. The aching bud of her desire. The tiny spot that somehow controlled every muscle in her body, making her hands grasp Ann’s head and her hips shift upward and her mouth form the most desperate sounds. Ann had always known exactly how to touch her. Tonight was no different. The hard presses, the teasing circles, the flicking and strumming and sucking. 

“Adney.”

Anne fell backward, her head dangling over the edge, her hands still buried in those blonde curls. The shockwaves started in her core, traveling into her thighs, up into her stomach, filling her chest, until her entire body was seizing with the force of her climax. She shook, unable to control the filthy noises dripping from her lips or the anxious jerking of her hips as Ann lapped up every, last drop.

“Holy shit,” she sighed, as her body finally relaxed and she released Ann’s head.

Ann pulled away, kissing the insides of her thighs, the protruding bones of her hips, the flat of her sternum. Anne felt knees bracket her hips, gentle hands around her face, then soft lips met hers. 

“One big one,” Ann whispered, leaning back. 

“What?” Anne was still breathless.

“That seemed like one big one.”

A small, playful smile spread across her face. 

“I guess it was,” Anne chuckled, her hands finding Ann’s waist. “And yet you got two.”

“I always want two kisses,” Ann teased, leaning forward and pressing her breasts into Anne’s chest. “You know that, Pony.”

“I guess I do,” Anne laughed. “I should know better by now.”

“Uh-huh,” Ann nodded, nestling her head in the curve of Anne’s shoulder. 

“We can’t sleep like this,” Anne said, nosing her way through Ann’s wild hair. 

“I don’t want to sleep alone,” Ann pouted.

“We’ll both have a sore back tomorrow, if we try to share.”

“Pony,” Ann whined, “fix it.”

“Fix what?” Anne laughed. 

Ann was like a child sometimes, wanting Anne to take care of her. Demanding it. And Anne? It was her favorite thing in the world. Fixing whatever Ann needed fixing. Turning that jutting lower lip into a broad smile. A plaintive sigh into a “thank you, Pony.” An annoyed, furrowed brow into a soft kiss. 

“Would Elizabeth be upset if we moved the furniture?”

“What?” Ann sat up, catching Anne’s gaze.

“Would she be upset with us if we pushed these beds together?”

“No,” Ann laughed, “probably not.”

Anne stood up, lifting Ann with her, and dropped her unceremoniously onto the opposite bed. She moved the nightstand from between the two, shoving it to the far wall. Ann giggled from her perch, sitting cross-legged and watching. Anne pushed the empty bed toward her, vaulting onto it on her belly once the two met. Her head landed near Ann’s hip, her calves and feet dangling over the edge. Soft hands ran up and down her back.

“Thank you, Pony.”

And after they’d washed their hands and faces and teeth again, found their pajamas, reshuffled the sheets to stretch between them, they settled in their customary spots. Anne against the headboard, legs stretched out in front of her, a book in one hand, the other fitting perfectly in the dip of her wife's hip. The wife in question curled around her, an arm and a leg flung across her, her small, golden head on Anne’s chest. 

“One big one,” came the soft murmur.

“What?” Anne asked, adjusting her readers on her nose.

“We’ve made one big bed,” Ann answered, her voice laced with contentment and sleep.

“That’s right,” Anne kissed her head, “one big one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Beginning based on "Hide and seek with little Mary till 9 1/2" June 16, 1837. I think, deep down, Anne probably likes games a lot, but she doesn't admit it, because, you know, she's the Very Serious Anne Lister.
> 
> Man, I am, like, really bad at edging. Really tried to hold out, but, like Anne, I can't resist. Well, we tried. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! As always, love and appreciate your comments. Hope you all are staying safe out there.


	21. Ann's Diary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coupla things:  
> 1\. I'm not sure it's totally clear, so this is another frame narrative. Ann is waking up on Tuesday, remembering Monday. Chapter 20 was Sunday night.  
> 2\. I have never been to Scotland, please be gentle!!!

“How do you do that?” She asked, peering over her wife’s shoulder as she scribbled in her journal. 

“Do what?” Anne didn’t even look up.

“Remember everything.” Ann climbed out of bed, tugging her sleeping shirt over her head.

“How could I forget?” Anne purred, eyes tracing down Ann’s nude body. 

They’d stumbled into bed last night so late and so drunk, and now, in the very early morning, Anne was catching up. She usually did her journal in the mornings, sometimes in the afternoons or on the rare occasions they sat in bed together without tearing their clothes off. Ann was shuffling to the shower, intent on washing the smoke and booze from her body then getting back into bed until breakfast. Maybe lunch.

“We did a lot yesterday,” Anne continued, “and I like to have it all written down.”

“That’s what I’m saying,” Ann called, adjusting the water temperature. “We did a lot, and I can’t remember all of it.”

Anne scoffed from the bed, and Ann stepped into the shower. She tried to piece together the snapshots of their day. 

Waking up in the divot between the beds, sputtering with laughter as Anne heaved her into her arms. Their grins turning to kisses, and their chuckles into sighs. Making slow, gentle love in the wan light of the morning - Anne’s hands in her hair, under her nightshirt, between her legs - her own hands finding her wife’s firm stomach, her broad back and thick hair, the slickness at the core of her - hums turning to moans turning to gasps until finally their hips jerked and their centers clenched and their hearts raced in unison. Anne had fallen off to the side, panting, only to land in the very same divot, until Ann had pushed and prodded her onto the flat plane beyond. 

Then, she guessed, they’d eaten breakfast. She remembered admiring her wife in that denim shirt, buttoned to her neck, covered by a thick, black sweater; Ann often wondered how and/or why Dr. Anne Lister wore such tight trousers. Her blue jeans were… rather distracting to say the least. Because they intended to sightsee today, Ann also wore jeans, a slouchy sweatshirt, her trainers. The Sutherlands seemed happy enough, though Ann couldn’t remember what they talked about. She was sure Anne would, that the topic and perhaps exact words of their conversation were even now finding their place in her journal. 

Elizabeth had agreed to let them borrow her car, a clunky SUV full of car-seats and toys. Anne drove them to Urquhart Castle first, which Ann had seen before. She enjoyed getting to see her wife experience it, albeit a little surprised Anne had never been before. 

“Did you not have a Scottish friend? Miss Maclean? Something like that?” Ann whispered, wrapping her arm around Anne’s as they followed the tour.

“She wasn’t much for tourism,” Anne hissed back, eyes trained on their guide. “Been there, done that, she said.”

Ann hummed her agreement; she had also been here and done this, but she knew Anne was anxious to explore. She’d indulged the interest in the tower, the prison cell, the enormous catapult; she had to draw the line at Anne’s constant barrage of questions at their poor guide, who, unfortunately, didn’t seem to know exactly how wide the battlements were.

“Not in feet?” Anne demanded. “Not in meters? Not in anything?”

The poor kid was stuttering, his pimply face flushed, eyes stretched wide in fear; Ann squeezed her wife’s bicep and leaned into her ear.

“Leave him alone.”

Clicking her tongue, Anne had leaned back and endured the rest of the tour in a sullen silence. When they finally went outside, admiring the grey bleakness of the loch, Ann poked her in the side. 

“What’s your problem?”

“I just think, if you’re going to give a tour, you should be educated on the subject.” Anne’s tone was clipped, wounded. 

“Pony,” Ann rubbed her arm, “he was a child.”

“I’d just like to know, that’s all.”

“Come here,” Ann tugged her to a secluded spot behind one of the half-ruined walls. She backed herself against it, tugging Anne to her by the beltloops. “What do you say? Make you a deal. Shag me up against this very old building, and I’ll let you go back on that tour and measure it yourself.”

“With _what_ , Ann?” She pouted. “I didn’t bring my tape measure.”

“I’m sure Liz has something in that car.” She pressed her lips to Anne’s neck. “What do you say, Pony?”

A moment of hesitation - Anne’s hands on her hips, her neck tilting to allow Ann better access. Then she pulled away.

“I have to measure first,” Anne shook her head. “I can’t focus until I know.”

“Oh my God,” Ann rolled her eyes. “Fine.”

She couldn’t remember exactly how they’d decided on the umbrella, but they did. She’d stayed behind, staring out at the loch while Anne scurried away to intimidate whichever poor guide got in her way. It was really quite lovely, out here, and Ann took a few pictures to revisit with her paints when they got home. Anne reappeared, eyes gleaming, panting lightly. Triumphant.

“Success?” Ann asked, taking her arm again.

“Oh yes.” Anne twirled the umbrella in her other hand, leading them back to that secluded spot. “I am indebted to Elizabeth for this umbrella, though we will have to measure it when we get home.”

“We?” Ann laughed, draping her arms around Anne’s neck as her back pressed into the stone. 

“I,” Anne husked, “I will have to measure it.” She kissed Ann, slow and deep, then brought one hand to the button of her jeans. “You see, I think it's right between a meter and a yard, so…”

She kept talking, but Ann didn’t remember specifics. Now, looking back, she could only remember the shocking coldness of her hand, how quickly it warmed between her legs, the way Anne had brought her to a shaking release. Her lips had met Ann’s neck, her hips had pressed firmly against her, her free hand planted against the wall above them so that Ann was surrounded by her strong body. All of this while droning on about measurements, interspersed lightly with those dirty encouragements that made Ann crazy.

“So you see - oh, fuck, Adney, you feel good - you see, that’s why I would be interested to know the exact length, because - you’re close, aren’t you? That’s it, darling. You’re shameless, my love. Getting me to fuck you up against this crumbling stone? Which by the way, dates back to-”

“Pony!” Ann gasped, feeling her release slip away. “Stop. Fucking. Talking.”

“Right, right,” Anne shook her head, “right.”

It had only been a few minutes more before Ann came, biting into the thick wool over Anne’s sweater. Soft strokes eased her through, until Anne pulled away, kissing her once more. Panting, Ann did up her jeans and shook her head.

“What?” Anne grinned.

“You’re a piece of work, Anne Lister.”

“How’s that?”

“Telling me castle details,” Ann chided, “in the middle of a perfectly good shag.” She clicked her tongue. “Somethin’ else.”

Ann remembered asking her wife if she believed in Nessie, and then immediately regretting it. Anne’s long diatribe against cryptids lasted the entirety of their drive to Inverness Castle. Playing with Anne’s long fingers while they drove passed the time, as Anne’s impassioned words swirled around her. When they reached their destination, Ann pressed a kiss to the back of her hand. 

“Of course, Pony,” she said seriously, “I agree.”

The Inverness Castle tour was… fine. Ann could only assume her wife was currently scribbling down every detail, but she herself had barely listened. It was a bloody video, for heaven’s sake. Not exactly earth-shattering. They climbed to the top of the tower; the view took Ann’s breath. She turned to her wife, wanting to share a kiss in this secluded, scenic spot. She sighed.

“Anne.”

“What?” Anne looked up, hunched over the umbrella at her feet. 

“What are you doing?” She asked, knowing the answer.

“Measuring,” Anne said quietly, her expression that of a child caught misbehaving.

Ann laughed and shook her head, leaning back against the low wall of the overlook. Raising her eyebrows, she indicated for Anne to continue. Her handsome, intelligent, thoughtful wife was bent over, carefully spanning the length of the overlook with a ratty, black umbrella. She did it again for the width. Ann was eternally grateful they were the only ones up there. 

“Finished?” She asked when Anne straightened. 

“Yes,” Anne said proudly. 

“Pleased with yourself?” 

“I am, actually.” Anne wrapped her arms around Ann’s waist. 

“So are you going to kiss me, or what?”

Anne grinned, dipping her head to bring their lips together. Her hands found Anne’s collar, pulling her close. It was properly romantic, Ann thought, the wind whipping in their hair, the city far below. They separated, sharing that dopey, lovestruck look. Ann pulled out her phone.

“Take a picture with me.”

“Adney,” Anne sighed.

“Come on!”

“I always look like I have a mustache.”

“I don’t think so,” Ann said seriously, “you always look great.”

Anne rolled her eyes, but she moved behind her, wrapped her arms around her middle, pressed her cheek to Ann’s. The shutter clicked a few times. They studied the results together.

“See? Mustache.”

“Hush.” Ann swiped through. “This one is good.”

“Who is that?” Ann teased in her ear. “That blonde.” She nipped Ann’s earlobe. “She’s hot.”

Ann laughed, and they’d descended. 

Lunch - some nameless restaurant. 

Strolling through the museum, hand-in-hand. Babbling incessantly about art, the pieces she loved, the pieces she hated, how the collection had changed since she’d last visited. Anne had listened so intently, asked such thoughtful questions, smiled so broadly at Ann’s answers - she felt almost dizzy with the combination of joy, lust, and gratitude. 

“Thank you, Pony,” she’d said as they made their way to Falcon Square. Their arms interlocked, they walked slowly; Anne usually walked so fast, but never with her. The umbrella clicked along with them, Anne swinging it like a walking stick. They ambled, really, more than they walked. 

“For what?”

“For letting me go on and on back there. For humoring me.”

“Two things, Miss Walker. The first is that I would let you read the phone book, the street signs, the takeaway menu; I love to hear you talk. Especially about something you’re an expert on.” Ann chuckled, shaking her head. “No, don’t do that,” Anne continued. “You know a lot about art, and I love to hear what you have to say about it. Secondly, you were generous enough to let me measure half of the city with my umbrella here, so it’s the least I can do.”

Even now, Anne’s words made her chest swell. Had anyone ever been so interested in her thoughts? In actually hearing what she had to say? Listened intently and carefully and loved her anyway? Certainly not.

Anne had walked her halfway across the city, until finally, they’d stumbled into a dim pub in the early evening. Their booth in the back was secluded, and Anne had rubbed her cold shoulders and arms until she was warm again.

“What do you say?” Anne said, leaning back in the corner of the seat and draping her arm behind Ann. “Should we get pissed?”

“Do you want to?” Ann grinned.

“Why not?”

“Elizabeth’s car for one.” Ann scanned the menu. “How will we get it back?”

“Come get it tomorrow,” Anne shrugged.

It was that simple - Ann found herself with a weak mixed drink, clinking with Anne’s pint. The first drink turned into another, then Anne was giving her the dirtiest looks. Flicking her finger over her glass. Running her foot up and down Ann’s calf. 

“You’re so hot,” Anne breathed in her ear, sliding one hand to her waistband. 

“Pony,” Ann sank lower, spreading her legs. 

“Should we?”

“There’s no one here,” she breathed, and it was true. The pub was sparsely populated. And their server was less than attentive. The booth was in a back corner. The table certainly shielded the most explicit of their actions. She gripped Anne’s hand. “Let’s.”

To any passerby, they must’ve looked like any other loved-up couple. A dark-haired woman leaning in to this blonde, one of her arms along the back of the booth, her nose nuzzling into the blonde’s pale neck. What a passerby couldn’t see was the way Anne’s deft fingers slipped into Ann’s jeans, found her clit, teased it languidly; from far away, it looked, at worst, like this brunette was feeling up her girlfriend. A passerby couldn’t hear the impossibly dirty things Anne whispered in her ear, nor could they see the way she stroked between Ann’s legs. 

“Close your mouth, darling.” Anne’s breath was hot against her skin. “You’ll give us away.” Ann whimpered, biting her lip. “Do you want the whole bar to know? That I’m fucking you?” Ann whined, feeling her release threaten to burst forth. “That you’re going to come on my hand right now?” 

Ann’s hips jerked upward once, but she managed to remain still as her climax rolled through her. She had just sagged in relief when the server arrived. Anne ordered for both of them, her hand resting lightly on Ann’s thigh, her voice even and friendly, as if Ann’s arousal weren’t cooling on her fingers even then. 

Anne pushed her out, went to the bathroom, came back. Their food arrived, and they ate. They had another drink, then Anne was tugging her into the bathroom. Single occupancy. 

“Thank God for small miracles,” Anne had purred in her ear, pressing her into the cool wall. 

Ann’s limbs felt heavy and slow with the liquor, her body quickly aflame with Anne’s hungry touches. It came back in flashes - Anne’s sharp teeth at her neck, her warm hands along her stomach and breasts, her hips rocking forcefully into hers. Then the room was spinning, Anne twirling her around, the sharp counter jabbing her lower back, strong hands wrenching open her trousers and tugging them down to her knees.

“Pony,” she remembered moaning as Anne sank to the grimy bathroom floor.

Then it was all sensation - broad strokes between her folds, tight grip on her hips, warmth spreading up into her belly. Drunk sex was a favorite of hers, even though they rarely drank very much. Ann loved the sloppiness of it, the slow build, the final culmination of teasing conversation and dirty looks. What they’d done in the booth was a warm-up, and this was the performance. 

“Pony!” She cried, slumping forward, leaning on Anne’s head and shoulders. Her hips bucked as Anne teased the last aftershocks from her. “Come here,” she panted.

Anne stood, grinning smugly as she tugged Ann's jeans up to her waist. Fisting her hands in her shirt, Ann pulled her in, their kiss messy and wet and deep. Her hands felt clumsy as she worked her way into Anne’s trousers and dug into her hip. Anne leaned into her, breathing heavily into her neck, gripping the counter behind her. Ann’s lips found the strong column of her neck, her hands found the perfect slope of her shoulder, the hard nub of her desire. 

Someone pounded on the door.

“Pony,” she purred, working faster, “come for me.”

Anne nodded, rolling her hips in time with Ann’s strokes. It only took a moment more, and she was choking out a moan, her weight falling heavily on her wife. The knocking started again. Giggling, they washed their hands and straightened their clothes. Anne pecked her lips.

“So impatient,” Anne teased.

“No manners,” Ann agreed.

Passing the middle-aged stranger outside the bathroom, hand-in-hand with Anne Lister, Ann knew she should’ve been embarrassed. They might as well have told that poor woman just how much they’d defiled the bathroom. Anne tugged her to the bar; they laughed through two more drinks. She studied her wife as she paid their tab: the long line of her nose, the wrinkle of her collar, the flourish of her signature on the receipt. Anne Lister, of her childhood fantasies, paying for their drinks in a grubby bar in Scotland, Ann’s hickey on her neck, her hand digging into Ann’s back pocket. Was this really her life? How had she gotten here? Anne gave her a curious look, took her hands, then tugged her out into the chilly evening. 

Ann had a flash of memory of Anne bumming a smoke, sharing it with her, the warm smoke filling Ann's chest. The way Anne's hands rubbed up and down her arms. How very long her fingers seemed to be. She was struck again by the enormous coup that was her life. Snatching Anne Lister from all others, stealing her and keeping her for herself. The ultimate realization of her impossible dreams. 

Next thing Ann knew, they were in the back of a cab, Anne’s hand on her thigh again, tracing teasing circles. She twitched, the alcohol hitting her in the solar plexus. Ann was suddenly so sleepy, leaning into her wife’s broad shoulder. 

Then she was in bed, those dumb twin beds Anne had pushed together, and Anne was undressing her. 

“Pony,” she whined, “I’m tired.”

“I know, darling,” Anne soothed, “but you can’t sleep like this.”

Ann groaned, lifting her hips so that Anne could slip off her jeans. She tugged off her socks, tickling Ann’s feet; Ann kicked her gently in the stomach, and Anne tried to catch her foot but missed.

“Miss Walker,” she growled playfully. “I’m almost as pissed as you are. Help me out, or we’ll both be sleeping in our clothes.”

“Okay,” Ann nodded obediently, flopping her arms wide. “Do what you must.”

“Adney,” she sighed, pulling Ann’s sweatshirt over her head. “Might be the drinks, but, Good Lord, I feel all dopey and lovey. I had the best day.”

Ann pulled her down for a kiss, tasting the beer, the chips, the smoke, her own arousal. She licked her lips as Anne pulled away. 

“Take this off,” Ann whined, tugging at her jeans. 

“I’m trying!”

She laughed as her wife hopped around, shucking her jeans, then her sweater. Ann grabbed the tail of her shirt and pulled her closer. 

“Let me.”

Ann fumbled over the buttons, starting at the bottom. How she loved all these tiny buttons. The intimacy of buttoning Anne's shirt in the morning, of reversing that process in the evening. Tonight, it was harder than usual. Ann’s fingers were too wide, too clumsy, too slow. The shirt kept shifting above her. The room was tilting sideways. Anne was laughing over her. 

“You’re a little unsteady there, Adney.”

“Says the girl with three heads.”

The last thing Ann remembered was her deep, throaty laughter. 

She’d woken in the night, when Anne crawled back into bed with two glasses of water. It was dark still, could’ve been any time. They’d both drunk greedily, then settled back to sleep, Anne’s warm body pressing against her back.

So, as Ann turned off the shower, she realized she probably could keep a fairly detailed journal. Not nearly as detailed as Anne’s, to be sure. She wasn’t sure how she got the nightshirt on or what the pub was called or how long the umbrella was. She padded back into the bedroom, drying her hair with the towel. 

“Hungover?” Anne asked, flipping her journal closed.

“Nah,” Ann dug through her clothes. 

“Good, because we have a task today.”

“Pony,” she groaned, “I wanted to rest.”

“Well, that’s too bad,” Anne said crisply, “because I said we would babysit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!!
> 
> Y'all should have seen my American bumpkin ass trying to research Scotland. "difference between loch and river???" and then just, like, Google maps tryna figure this stuff out. Oh, Lord.
> 
> Anne's umbrella affinity from the Anne Choma tweet where Anne measured the width of Wearmouth Bridge in Sunderland "9.5 times my umbrella stick wide... the whole length 170 my common paces." May 18, 1828. Her umbrella is "37in long"
> 
> "Anne: you're looking a little unsteady there.  
> Ann, drunk: says the girl with three heads" - courtesy of incorrectgentlemanjackquotes on tumblr
> 
> This one feels all over the place, but that's kind of the point? I wanted to get through their sightseeing in broad strokes, pulling out the parts that were interesting to me. aka when they bone. It occurred to me as I edited that the ending might seem like Ann was blacking/browning out/ had too much to drink, but that's not what I was going for. More that she only remembered highlights, not every detail, which I think is how most people's brains work. Not every detail like Anne. I hope it wasn't hard to read.
> 
> Thank you so much! Big shoutouts to all of you who comment, share your ideas and reactions and feedback. You all truly keep me going. Smaller, but still genuine, shoutouts for y'all who lurk; I see them hits growing. I see you.  
> Anyway, thank you I love you thank you.


	22. Baby-Sitters Club

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My search history:  
> how tall are 5 year olds  
> what does a 7 month old play with  
> how often does a 3 year old nap  
> etc etc etc

It had all started off so well. Elizabeth’s tentative knock while Ann showered. Anne’s eager agreement to watch the children while their parents took a day in town. Elizabeth had been so generous with the car - and the umbrella - and Anne was happy to repay their generous hosts. It was only one day, how hard could it be?

Pretty fucking hard, as it turned out.

Things had started out simply enough. Elizabeth had shown them the full kitchen of provisions, the carefully written-out schedule, all the most favorite toys. Anne had listened, sure, but it didn’t seem particularly difficult. After the first two hours, however, the situation had deteriorated. 

“She’s hungry, _again_?” Anne hollered over the baby’s cries. 

“Yes, Pony,” Ann said easily, moving into the sleek kitchen for the bottles Elizabeth had shown them before _abandoning_ them with three small demons. “Every few hours.”

“I literally just cleaned that stupid chair.” Anne was pacing, bouncing the screaming child in her arms. “Wait, she gets both?”

“I’ll do it,” Ann smiled, taking the child from her. “You don’t listen very well, Pony.”

“Good _Lord_ ,” Anne collapsed into the chair, scanning the wide windows for the children in the garden. “Hold on,” she sat up, “where’s Mary?”

“What?” Ann’s formerly calm face registered alarm. “I thought you were watching her!” 

“I was holding that bloody thing!” Anne raced out into the garden. Sackville was running a truck along the lounge chairs. “Sackville, where’s your sister?”

“In that tree.” 

He didn’t even look up. Didn’t even indicate which bloody tree. Anne spun around, searching for her tiny body. What had she been wearing? Pink? Green? She was blonde, wasn’t she? Oh, God, Anne cursed herself. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fu-

“Aunty Lister!” 

Anne looked up, sighing in relief when she spotted the small girl. She was, indeed, in one of the trees. A springy one, lots of low branches. Not too high, near Anne’s shoulders. Having assessed the danger, Anne allowed herself to breathe evenly again and walked over to the girl.

“Yes, darling?”

“Watch me!” 

“I -” Anne caught herself, remembering Ann’s advice. “Okay, sure, of course.”

Her wife had advised her just to agree with the children on these things, even if it was illogical, repetitive, or she was already bloody watching. Anne breathed deeply, trying to quell her annoyance. She split her attention between the boy and the girl, watching them in their separate tasks. This wasn’t so bad, she decided, it was the baby that sent her over the edge. The older children’s schedule made sense to her, and they were due for lunch fairly soon. The baby? Eating so-called “solid food” _and_ breast milk? Why not one or the other? Poor Elizabeth, she thought, all that pumping. Though, she assumed, it meant the nanny could feed her while Elizabeth regained her sanity. 

“How are we out here?” Ann asked as she approached. Anne furrowed her brow in confusion. 

“Where’s the baby?” 

“Taking a nap,” Ann laughed and waggled the baby monitor in her hand. “Good Lord, Pony, take a breath.”

“I mean, I’m trying!”

Ann laughed again, wrapping her arms around Anne’s middle, pressing into her back. Sighing, Anne felt her body finally relax as Ann’s chin hooked over her shoulder. 

“You’re quite worried,” Ann said softly.

“It’s a lot of pressure.”

“Sure.”

“I don’t want them to get hurt.”

“I know.”

“I - I don’t know if I can handle it,” Anne admitted softly.

“What?”

“I’m not sure if - I mean after one day of this -”

“Aunty Lister!” Mary’s shrill voice interrupted her. They looked up in unison. Mary was significantly higher now, her small face colored by terror. “Aunty Lister! Help me!”

“What is it, darling?” Anne called, trying to sound calm. Why hadn’t the girl called for Ann? “What’s wrong?’

“I’m stuck!”

“No, honey, you’re not. See that branch right there?” Anne pointed. “Put your right foot-”

“Anne!” Her wife hissed. 

“What?”

“She’s five.”

Anne studied her wife, swung her head back to the girl, then she understood. Of course she couldn’t just direct Mary down the tree. She was a child, not just a very short adult. Anne studied the tree; the branches were too weak for her weight, and the shaking her climbing would cause would only scare the girl further. She stretched upward; the girl was just out of her reach. How the hell had she gotten so high?

“Mary, love,” Anne said slowly, “I think you have to jump.”

“What?” Ann cried behind her. The girl started to sob, her chubby arms and legs wrapped around the branch. “Anne!”

“No, really,” Anne ignored her wife, speaking calmly to the girl. Now that there was a crisis, she felt clear-headed for the first time since the Sutherlands left. “I’m very strong, Mary, and I promise I’ll catch you. I promise. I -” she stretched her arms as far as she could, “see how close I am? I’m almost there. Just swing your legs over.”

“Aunty Walker!” The girl screamed. 

“Ann,” she said quietly, “this is the only way.”

“We’ll get a ladder. We’ll-”

“Take too long,” Anne interrupted. “Do you know where their ladder is? And that girl is up there getting more and more upset while we bumble around finding it? Convince her.”

“Are you sure you can catch her?”

“You know I can.”

Ann considered, biting her lip. They had a special relationship, Ann and Mary; Anne was confident that if Ann asked, Mary would do anything. Anne made a “hurry up” motion, and her wife rolled her eyes, but then she nodded. 

“Mary, love, I need you to listen to Aunty Lister. She’s going to catch you.”

“I- I- I’m gonna fall!”

“You’re not,” they said in unison. Anne looked at her wife, who continued: “Aunty Lister is going to catch you, okay? She can pick me up, Mary! And I’m an old lady!” The girl’s sobbing paused for just a moment. “Right?” Ann chuckled. “Okay, so swing your legs down, and Aunty Lister’s got you.”

Anne stretched her arms upward, holding her breath as she watched Mary’s tear-stained face turn toward her. She smiled gently and nodded, wiggling her fingers in the air. Then the girl was shimmying on the branch, hesitating, then she tumbled backward. Anne caught her easily, hands wrapping around her belly, round in the way only children's were. The girl giggled, and Anne swung her in the air a bit more. 

“See?” She laughed. “Aunty Lister’s got you.”

“Put me down!” Mary laughed, kicking her legs in the.

“Okay,” Anne leaned down, stopping with Mary’s feet just above the ground. “One condition: promise me you’ll never climb that high again.”

“I promise,” she answered seriously. 

“Good!” Anne placed her gently on the ground, grinning as small arms encircled her legs. “Okay, okay,” she scratched the back of Mary's head. “Go inside, go on.”

Mary scrambled away, running to the house, her tears forgotten. Anne watched her with a smile, warmth flooding up her arm and into her chest as her wife’s small hand found her own. 

“I think I know what you were about to say,” Ann said softly as they strolled back to the house, “but you would make an excellent mum.”

Anne rolled her eyes with a chuckle. Most days, she was certain she wasn’t cut out for parenthood, but then, there were moments like that one with Mary. That felt good. That was nice. She sighed, shaking her head.

“I think I’m a decent aunt,” she hedged; “I don’t know about anything else.”

Soft lips pressed to her shoulder, and then Sackville was crashing into her knees. 

“Yes?” Anne said as she crouched down. “Can I help you, sir?”

“My sister said you picked her up,” he said seriously.

“Well, I don’t know, if technically that’s what happened, but -”

“Pick _me_ up!” He lifted his arms.

“I don’t know,” Anne stood, “you might be too heavy.”

“What!” Sackville stomped his tiny foot.

“I’m not sure,” Anne lifted him around the middle; his bright giggles mixed with Ann’s. “I don’t think I can.” She carried him toward the house, swinging him gently this way and that, lifting him above her head, pretending to fumble and drop him. “I don’t know where your sister got such a crazy idea.” She plopped him into his high chair. “I couldn’t possibly lift anyone.”

Sackville was red-faced with joy, and, blessedly, that delight turned into a fairly easy lunch and nap transition. They fell onto the living room sofa in an exhausted heap. Ann’s chest on her own, her head nuzzled into her shoulder, their legs tangled together. Anne stretched her head over the arm of the couch, exhaling deeply. 

“Don’t complain,” Ann chided, wrapping her arms around Anne’s middle. “This was your idea.”

“Well, I didn’t know it would be so hard,” she laughed. “Good heavens.”

“I know.” Ann’s hand sank to her belt. “But since we’re alone…” she trailed off, pressing her lips to Anne’s neck.

Anne slipped one hand under her wife’s shirt, tracing the gentle curve of her spine. Their lips met languidly, hands caressing and exploring. It was nice, it was good, it was relaxing. She closed her eyes for a moment. Suddenly, the room was filled with the crackling, tinny sounds of Elisabeth’s cries. The sun was lower, streaming in through the windows now, rather than directly overhead. Ann groaned into her chest. 

“You go.”

“If I go, you still have to get up,” Anne closed her eyes, “but if you go -”

“Pony. Go.”

Grumbling, Anne rolled to the floor, heaving herself upright. How did parents do this day after day? Anne wasn’t sure she had the stamina. And yet, when she lifted that stinky baby in her arms, she wasn’t quite so tired. Elisabeth was a sweet child, generally, even when her tiny face was red and scrunched up and crying. Anne inspected her the way she inspected everything: methodically, patiently, piece-by-piece. Diaper. Certainly. She took the baby to the changing table and inhaled to steady herself. She got a noseful of babystink. She laughed.

“Okay, Miss Sutherland, we’re going to try this, hmmm? Be patient with me?” She started peeling off the diaper. “I don’t really know what I’m doing, to tell you the truth. I hope you don’t mind.” She tried to remember the steps Ann had told her earlier, where Elizabeth had said all the supplies were. “A year ago? No ma’am. I would not be changing a diaper. That’s for sure. But you see, Elisabeth, I met this girl. I’d actually met her before, but I’d never really seen her. You know? Well, you probably don’t,” Anne chuckled, “but it was pretty magical. She’s the most beautiful girl you’ve ever seen. Present company excluded. And she’s kind and funny and thoughtful and talented and - and now, I find myself in Scotland, with a houseful of kids, and I don’t even mind.” She inspected her handiwork. Pretty good, she thought, lifting the baby into her arms. “I kind of love it.”

She bounced the child in her arms, turning to find her wife in the doorway, tears welling in her eyes. Anne grinned as she closed the distance between them, kissing her wife’s forehead.

“What do I do now?” She whispered. 

“Do you think she’s hungry?” 

Anne shrugged helplessly, allowing her wife to take the baby from her. 

“Are you hungry, my love? Let’s get a snack.”

Following the pair, Anne’s chest swelled. She sank into one of the large armchairs in the living room, her head spinning with possibilities. Did she want children? She certainly wouldn’t mind seeing Ann like this. And her wife seemed so good at it. Then again, she thought of this morning. The shrill cries, the overwhelming panic, the frustration wrapping itself around her chest. Ann reappeared, sitting between her legs with the baby in her lap, offering her a bottle. For a moment, Anne enjoyed it - the warm press of Ann’s back against her front, the feeling of encompassing both of them, protecting these fragile, sweet people. And then, it hit her. Tension seized her body. This was too much, too real. This could be their child, their life. Forget raunchy afternoons in bed, hurried strokes in bathroom stalls, spontaneous trips wherever they wanted. It would all end, with a child, wouldn’t it? Their entire lives. Crashing around them. And for what?

Ann set Elisabeth on the ground, who immediately busied herself with a pile of discarded blocks, babbling happily. Turning, Ann sat across her lap, legs dangling over one arm of the chair, her back leaning against the other. 

“What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing,” Anne said automatically.

“Liar.”

Anne smiled softly, shaking her head. 

“I was thinking about what a good time I’ve had today,” Ann fiddled with the buttons on her shirt, “and how glad I’ll be when my sister gets home.”

Laughing, Anne shook her head again. She caught Ann’s hand, toying with the ring on her finger, still caught up in her own thoughts. 

“Tell me something, Pony.”

“Uh, well, I’m thinking a lot of things.”

“Like what?”

“Like how good you are with these kids, and how exhausting it is, and how I can’t figure out what I want.”

“Oh, Anne,” her wife said softly. “You don’t have to figure out anything.”

“But I want to,” Anne said urgently, “I want to know how my life - our life is going to go. I want to be able to plan and -”

“Hey,” Ann said gently, “when you turned up at Crow Nest that morning, did you have a plan?”

“Not really.”

“Right. And look at where it’s gotten you. You don’t have to plan every single thing, Pony. Okay? We can see how we feel. We’re not even married yet.”

“I’m just -” Anne cut herself off, shaking her head.

“What?” A beat. “Anne, what?” 

“I’m too old,” she said quietly. “If we had a baby today, I’d be in my sixties when our child went to uni.”

“So?”

“So?” Anne shot back. “So I wasted decades of my life, and now that I have something I might actually want, I’m too bloody old.” The words tumbled out of her; she couldn’t control them. “Why didn’t I meet _you_ when I was twenty? Why did I waste half of my life when I could have -”

“Pony,” Ann tugged on her fingers. “Breathe. First of all, if we’d met when you were twenty, I would have been eight. So that would not have worked.” Anne exhaled a laugh. “Secondly, I’ve been having the same thoughts since Mary was born. I don’t have any idea what I want. It changes all the time. I never thought I’d get married, and now, well now, everything is different, isn’t it? So let’s just wait. No decisions until after the wedding. Okay?”

Anne nodded, bringing their lips together gently. Faint voices broke into their reverie, and then the Sutherlands appeared. 

“What’s this?” George demanded. 

“Hi,” Ann smiled, scrambling out of Anne’s lap. “Mary and Sackville are upstairs.”

“What the hell is this?” Sutherland barked. 

“George-” Elizabeth said sternly, but Ann put a hand on her arm. She’d recognized the fire burning in her wife’s eyes as she stood. 

Anne straightened her shirt, looked this man up and down, assessed him. Ann tugged her sister upstairs. 

“What?” Anne asked simply, sliding her hands into her pockets.

“What you were just doing! In front of my child!” 

“Having a conversation?” Anne knew what he was getting at, but she wasn’t going to be intimidated by a man who couldn’t even grow a beard.

“You were - you know what you were doing.”

“Do you never kiss your wife in front of your children?”

“That’s different.”

“I can’t see how,” Anne shrugged.

“It’s not appropriate.”

“She’s a baby.”

“You shouldn’t -”

“Listen,” Anne advanced on him; he stumbled backward until his shoulders hit the wall. “You’re welcome to be a homophobic prick, if that’s what makes you happy. But I won’t have it. I won’t have my wife around it.” He opened his mouth to protest; she held up a single hand. “We’ve had a lovely few days here with you, but if this is your attitude, we will leave right now. And you won’t see us again. Elizabeth and the children will be welcome at Shibden, but you,” she poked his chest, “will not be.” She paused, assessing him. “You know, I’ve been watching you. Your marriage. Wondering why Elizabeth stays with you. From what I can tell, you don’t know why either. She’s too good for you, and it’s obvious. To everyone. Burns you up, doesn’t it?” He was properly raging now, his eyes alight, his lips twitching, but he wouldn’t interrupt. There was nothing to say. He knew it was true. “Do you really want to give her another reason to resent you?”

Silence hung heavily between them. Anne wondered if she and Ann should leave tonight anyway; their tickets were for Thursday morning, but it didn’t matter. She had never been one to suffer fools, and certainly not a snivelly one like him. Recognizing the fear in his eyes, she decided to take pity on him. For Ann’s sake. For Mary and her tree climbing. For Sackville and his sandcastles. 

“I like your family. I like your wife and your children, and I don’t want to fall out with the closest family Ann has. You can apologize now, and I’ll forget all about it.”

She watched him process, go from fear to anger to annoyance, landing at acceptance. Or, perhaps, resignation. 

“I‘m sorry, Dr. Lister.”

“Thank you,” she said with relish, taking a step back. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Sutherland grunted, sinking onto the sofa.

“You’ve got a lovely girl here,” Anne indicated Elisabeth, still toying with her blocks and apparently unaware of the tension swirling around her.

“She is, isn’t she?” Sutherland said, smiling faintly.

Anne nodded, and then he was off. The proud ramblings of a father in awe of his daughter. And Anne could forgive him. He was a bit of a prick, a bit of an idiot, but he loved his family. The family that would be Anne’s, too, she supposed. Her nieces and nephew. They had that much in common. For now, that was enough. Ann and Elizabeth returned with Sackville and Mary, and the boisterous chatter of the children filled the room. Ann took her arm again, leaning into her side. 

“I thought you were going to knock him flat,” Ann teased in her ear. “I was about to start packing.”

“No, no, I know how important they are to you.”

Ann squeezed her hand and looked up, gratitude filling her watery eyes. Their attention turned back to the scene around them. She studied her future brother-in-law. The way he doted on his son, listened carefully to his daughter, the genuine gratitude he expressed to Anne for the tree incident. It was enough, for now, to have the children in common. That, plus the way Ann was looking at her. Like she’d performed a miracle, given her a gift, saved her from drowning. That was certainly reason enough to tolerate George Sutherland.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> It feels, to me, like we've had a lot of really dirty stuff lately, like Anne + Ann shag through Scotland. Which is fun. But it's been a while since I feel like I've gone into some more character stuff? I don't know. This feels like a change of pace, in a good way. To me, at least. 
> 
> I struggled with the George stuff, but, in the end, I feel like this is how families are. Anne could've made a big stink and yanked Ann out and gone home, but she didn't need to. She laid down the law, told Sutherland who's boss, and I think that was enough. That show-down felt like it had to happen anyway. So he gets his little shitty remark out there, the one he's been holding back, Anne slaps him into place, and they move on. Because it's family and sometimes that's how it has to be, at least in my experience. I'm going to go into it a little more with the next chapter, how Ann feels, but what do we think? I dunno.
> 
> Oh, and shoutout to Beth for the idea of Mary stuck in a tree!
> 
> Thank you thank you thank you!!!


	23. Role Reversal

“I heard what you said,” Ann said over her shoulder. She was halfway through her nightly skincare routine, while Anne perched on the bed with a book. They’d had a very pleasant evening with the Sutherlands, a simple dinner, then gone to bed early, washing the stress of the day from their tired bodies. Honestly, she was wiped. “To George.”

“Oh,” Anne looked up, “right. Well, uh, I hope -”

“I appreciated it, Pony. I can’t tell you how much it meant to me.”

“I thought you were upstairs.”

“Elizabeth made me wait,” Ann turned, leaning in the doorway. Her wife was stretched out, her long legs in front of her, book in her lap; she wore a threadbare t-shirt and ratty boxer shorts. Ann wasn’t so tired anymore. “We, like, hid on the stairs. She wanted to lay into him herself, but I know that look. Like when dinner is late or Joseph trips over something or that time Tib tried to hit on me. The look you get when you’re about to eviscerate somebody. I knew you would handle it well enough on your own.”

Anne smiled and raised her eyebrows, shrugging self-depricatingly. 

“The way you - you handled it. You were so calm. Sticking up for me. For my family. For, uh, for our family. For the family we could become.”

“Adney.”

“No, no, because, like, because I really thought you’d be - like, you’d want to leave. Which, I wouldn’t blame you for. Because he was totally out of line, and I know you’ve - like, you’ve had so many experiences in the past, with that kind of thing, and you don’t - I mean, you shouldn’t have to deal with it - I mean, no one should, but -”

“Adney,” Anne said again. “It’s okay.”

“It’s really not,” Ann said emphatically, “but you just dealt with him. You were so calm. And, uh, I still get to have my family. Because as soon as he walked in and acted like that, I thought for sure I would lose them. Not that I care about him, but Liz and the children… Anne, it means a lot to me.”

“I know, baby,” Anne held her arm out, “come here.”

“Will it be weird, now, with you and him?” Ann knelt at the edge of the bed. “Are you uncomfortable with him?”

“Actually no,” Anne took her hand, “because of what he said before we came upstairs.” Ann tilted her head in question. “I guess you didn’t hear that part, did you?”

Ann shook her head.

“I was surprised, to be honest, how quickly he apologized, so I asked him about it.”

“Anne!” She cried, laughing. She’d been surprised by George’s easy transition too, but she never would’ve pushed it. Anne shrugged.

“I have been visibly gay basically since I was born. I don’t give a fuck anymore.” Anne laughed. “I’ve been catcalled, harassed, and punched in the face by men a lot worse than George Sutherland.” Ann opened her mouth to ask, but Anne held up a hand. “Another time. The point being: I don’t compromise how I am or who I am. Not for anyone. I’m certainly not going to feel awkward around my brother-in-law. Especially if I could just ask him. So I did.”

“You asked him what?”

“What made him reverse like that. So quickly.”

“And what’d he say?”

“Well, basically, he started out just doing it because he thought I would deck him.” Ann laughed. “Right? So, he just focused on his kids, whom, actually, he loves quite a lot. He said he was seething, was going to make a stink about it later, once the kids were in bed. But then, he said he saw how we were together, how much the kids like us, and,” Anne shrugged, “he realized it actually didn’t bother him.”

“What?” 

“Like your sister said, it was mostly about what other people thought. Knee-jerk reaction. The way he was raised. The usual shit. But he made his peace with it, with both of us. He shook my hand. Said he’d speak with you tomorrow. Wanted to ask Elizabeth’s opinion on what to say.”

Ann was stuck by the miracles Anne Lister seemed to be able to perform. She pulled her close and kissed her, soft and gentle and deep. Anne pulled away, smiling. 

“Anne Lister,” she shook her head, “how do you do it?”

“Effortless charm,” Anne husked, her eyes dancing, “endless grace, devastatingly good looks?”

“Seriously, Anne, sometimes, I think it’s too good to be true.”

Anne winked, pulling back and leaning against the headboard. 

“To be honest, I think he just tried to be the big dog. He’s used to it, you know? Ordering people around, getting what he wants, being in charge. But, uh,” Anne clicked her tongue, gesturing vaguely to herself, “doesn’t really work with me, you know? I’m the big dog.” Ann laughed, even as arousal rushed between her legs at her wife’s swaggering confidence. “Tail between his legs, reevaluating, things look a little different.” She shrugged again, a smirk playing at the corner of her mouth. “Now, go. You have three more tiny bottles in there you have to click open, squirt a little bitty amount into your palm, and rub on some part of your incredible body. While I go nuts over here waiting for you.”

“What?” Ann laughed. “It makes you nuts?”

“Well, yeah,” Anne nudged her with her foot, “just watching you. It drives me crazy.”

“Oh, Pony,” she stood, sauntering back to the bathroom. “I am going to rock your world tonight.”

“Are you?” Anne laughed. 

Humming, Ann nodded, finishing the last few steps of her nightly routine. The George stuff was surprising, but the way Anne explained it, it made sense. She never thought George was really bigoted, not deep down, but he was incredibly sensitive about appearances. Which was its own form of bigotry, she supposed. She was glad that he’d come around, that there wouldn’t be mounting tension between them, that she and Anne could still visit. 

And hadn’t he thrown them that welcome party? He’d been glad enough to bring his friends around, show them off, brag about them. On the other hand, it did seem like maybe Alexander had gotten the wrong idea about her. But he’d said nothing when they’d emerged from the library, Ann with that hickey on her neck. Maybe no one was all one thing or the other. Maybe George had moments of acceptance and moments of retraction. Maybe he didn’t know his own mind. Did anyone? Anne always did, but Ann had never met anyone else who did. For Ann, it was enough that he was willing to try. That he heard what Anne said, had backed down, had given them a chance. He made mistakes, reacted harshly and spoke rashly, let societal ideas influence his own actions. The important part was that he seemed to want to do better. 

Turning back to her wife, she found Anne was watching her. Heat radiated throughout her body; under Anne’s gaze, she felt warm all over. Biting her lip, Ann brought her hand to the button of her shirt. She’d put on one of Anne’s old flannel shirts after her shower; it hung just past her bum. Anne’s eyes followed her hand as she eased open the first button, then the second, and the third. Ann knew full-well the effect her chest had on her wife, and she enjoyed teasing her like this. For a moment, she paused, then opened the fourth button; now only two held the shirt together over her belly. Curling her fingers around the parted sides, she pulled the shirt open wider, shivering as the cool air of the bedroom hit her breasts. She could feel her nipples hardening under Anne’s intense gaze. 

“Take it off,” Anne breathed.

Those dark eyes dared her further. Her chest heaved as she found the penultimate button. The distance between them was intensely arousing, the connection between them vibrating in the air. She flicked open that second-to-last button. Anne licked her lips. She brought one hand up to her breast, rolling her nipple between her fingers. Good Lord, maybe she would come just from this. Flipping open the last button, she pressed her chest forward; the shirt hung open around her shoulders. Anne groaned from the bed, her eyes wide and her lips parted.

“Adney.”

It was a strange sensation, her arms covered by the warm flannel, her chest totally exposed, her panties rapidly soaking in her arousal. She slid the shirt from her shoulders, tossing it at her wife. 

“Adney!” She laughed, breathless. “Take it all off.”

Hooking her thumbs in her waistband, Ann teased her underwear just a hint lower. It was exhilarating, affecting Anne like this, teasing her, dragging it out. So often it felt like Anne was in total control, stripping her bare, setting their pace. Tonight, for this brief moment, Ann was in charge. She sent her panties to the floor.

“Turn around,” Anne whispered, her voice high-pitched and needy. 

Biting back a grin, Ann turned her back to her wife, leaned over, picked up her underwear. She held that pose for a long moment, knowing the effect it would have on Anne; she looked over her shoulder. Grinned.

“Ann Walker. Come here.”

Straightening, Ann fixed her wife with a coy smile. She could see Anne’s long fingers twitching, anxious to touch her, touch herself, bring their bodies crashing together. Ann wasn’t ready. Not yet.

“I don’t think you understand,” she breathed, “how important this is to me. To have Liz and the kids. My family.”

“Ann.” A soft whine.

“How much I appreciate you.” Ann stepped closer. “How much I love you.” Another step. “How well you protect me.” She dropped one knee onto the bed. “How safe you make me feel.”

Anne’s mouth was open, but no sound came out. Just raspy breaths. To be wanted this much? More intoxicating than any alcohol Ann had ever tasted. She hiked her other knee onto the bed; they were now barely a foot apart. It was halfway surprising that Anne had not touched her already. She seemed to be waiting for permission. 

“What’s wrong, Pony?”

“Nothing,” Anne breathed, her eyes shooting up from Ann’s breasts to her eyes. She grinned crookedly. “Nothing at all.”

Reaching out, Ann draped her arms around Anne’s neck, tangling her hands in the hair at the nape of her neck. For a beat, they breathed in sync, suspended between worlds. Anne’s brown eyes had never been so dark. Ann tilted her chin.

The tension broke. Anne pounced, crashing into her, bringing their lips together with ferocity, need, hunger. They tumbled, Ann on her back, her wife above her, that dark hair falling around her shoulders like a lion’s mane. Anne was everywhere - between her legs, on her lips, across her chest; with a breathy whine, Ann stretched back, pressing her chest into her wife’s.

“Miss Walker,” she purred, pressing her lips to Ann’s neck, “teasing me?” She nipped at her collarbone. “Naughty girl.” Her tongue ran between Ann’s breasts, over to one nipple, circling, sucking, grazing it with her teeth. Ann was almost positive she could come just from this. “You knew just what you were doing.” She moved to the opposite breast, performing the same, tender worship. Ann whimpered, rolling her hips up into Anne’s belly. “And you’re impatient.” She bit down lightly on the swell of Ann’s breast. “I don’t think so.”

“Pony,” she whined. “Come on.” She pressed her hips upward. Anne slipped her arms underneath her, hooking her strong hands around Ann’s shoulders. “Please.”

And so began the slow, tender, infuriating assault of her chest. Anne was as good at this as she seemed to be at everything else. Teasing bites and tender kisses and broad strokes of the tongue. Her strong arms flexing under Ann’s body, her fingers gripping her shoulders, squeezing intermittently. Her firm stomach pressed between Ann’s legs; Ann lifted up, hooking her feet just below Anne’s bum. Desire built steadily in her gut, her clit throbbing as Anne took her sweet time.

“Anne, ple- Anne,” she panted, one hand holding Anne’s head to her, the other running up and down her strong back. “I - fuck, Anne, I -”

Anne surfaced, her face shining and her eyes dancing. She kissed the hollow of Ann’s throat, her sternum, between her ribs, her bellybutton. Pressing her legs apart, she settled at the apex of Ann’s thighs. 

“Adney,” she said reverently, “you’re about to come, aren’t you?”

“Anne,” she whined, desperate, almost unable to think. Certainly, unable to form any words other than her wife’s name. “Anne!”

“This is very good to know,” Anne purred, “for the future.”

The first swipe to her clit was electric. Ann could already feel the warm flames of her release building as Anne lapped at her core. It was over too soon, the fire in her stomach spreading through her entire body as she shook and whimpered. The entire world narrowed to the masterful ministrations of her wife, the exquisite pleasure suffusing her body. She opened her eyes to find Anne’s glistening face above her, grinning smugly.

“Oh, Miss Walker,” she purred, “you are full of surprises.”

Ann could only pant in response.

“That about did the job for you, huh? Always so impatient. You could almost come just from that.”

“Yeah,” Ann breathed, her eyes slipping closed again. “Yeah I think I could.”

“Now that _is_ interesting.”

Ann laughed, shaking her head; did Anne have to treat everything like a science experiment? She brought their lips together, moaning at the taste of her own arousal. She trailed one hand between them, finding the waistband of her boxers. Anne broke the kiss when her fingertips found her clit, dropping down, pressing into Ann’s still-sensitive breasts. Her breath was warm against Anne’s neck.

“Honestly, Pony,” she whispered into her ear, circling her clit gently with one hand and scratching the back of her dark head with the other, “sometimes I think I could come just looking at you.”

Anne moaned, her hips meeting Ann’s gentle strokes. Ann kissed her neck, tugged gently on her hair, sped up the movement of her hand. If Anne knew exactly how to tease her wife to the brink, Ann certainly knew her body just as well. As worked up as she had been from Anne’s attentions, she knew Anne would be similarly desperate. Sinking her teeth into the juncture of her neck and shoulder, Ann pressed harder, strumming Anne’s clit urgently. Her hips juttered, her back arched, her choked moans filled Ann’s ears.

“That’s it, my Pony,” she purred, knowing what Anne needed to vault over that final edge, “you feel so good. My strong Pony. My protector.”

Anne collapsed fully, her weight heavy and comforting on Ann’s body. Scratching the back of her head, Ann eased her down, whispered gently in her ear, pressed soft kisses to her neck. Finally, Anne rolled over.

“Shit,” she hissed, finding herself in the crack between the beds. Ann laughed, pushing her shoulders until Anne flopped onto the far side of the bed. “Good Lord.”

“Be glad to have our own bed back, won’t you?” Ann turned on her side, laughing at her gasping wife. She tugged at the shirt Anne was somehow still wearing. 

“Yes,” she sighed, catching Ann’s hand, kissing the knuckles of it. “Oh, fuck.”

“You’re going to tease me?” Ann giggled. “About coming too fast? Look at yourself.”

“Oh no,” Anne turned to her seriously, still breathless, “no, Adney, don’t misunderstand. Nothing makes me happier.”

Grinning, Ann swung their hands together in the air. They were in that delicious in-between moment, between going again and going to sleep. Were they up for one more? Or had the kids worn them out? Anne was still in her pajamas, which made Ann want to rip them off. She clicked her tongue.

“Why are you always wearing clothes?” She tugged at her shirt. 

“Why are you always naked?”

“Uh,” Ann laughed, scrambling on top of her, “I think it’s obvious.”

“And I do appreciate it.” Anne ran her hands up and down Ann’s thighs.

“But you,” Ann toyed with the hem of her shirt, “wear this baggy old thing. Let me see you, Pony.”

Rolling her eyes, Anne let her wife pull the shirt over her head. Ann traced her fingers along her firm stomach, admiring the goosebumps she left in her wake.

“I had a really good day with you,” she whispered, “and the kids.”

“Me too.”

Ann kissed her softly, then her jaw, then her throat. 

“Adney,” she sighed as Ann’s lips trailed between her breasts, along her firm stomach, to the waistband of her boxers. “I love you.”

Ann grinned as she slipped her boxers off. Anne didn’t often say those words in the heat of the moment like that; sometimes, sure, but not usually. She was so careful with her words, and Ann loved driving her to distraction. Especially soft words like this, not the filthy ones she usually grunted when they were in bed. 

“I wonder, Pony, if this bed could handle…” she trailed off, unsure if Anne would even be up for this. She pressed her lips to Anne’s sharp hip bones, across her belly.

“Wonder what?” Anne breathed as Ann descended between her legs. 

“If we could make love,” Ann lapped at her clit gently, “in this bed.”

“Is that not,” Anne swallowed, her long fingers tangling in her blonde locks, “what - unh - what we’re doing right now?”

“You know,” Ann whispered against her center, “what I mean.”

“I - unh, I do,” her wife managed, “come here;” she tugged lightly at Ann’s hair, “get up here.”

“But I wondered,” Ann kissed her stomach, “if this time,” her sternum, “I could” her collarbone, “be on top.”

Hovering over her, Ann bit her lip. She’d wondered this for a while, had fantasized about the exquisite power of that position, how it would feel to be like Anne, in this small way. Anne looked up at her, brow furrowed, and then laughed. Ann’s face fell. 

“Oh, shit, no, Adney, I’m sorry.”

“No, no,” Ann moved to stand up, but Anne’s strong hands held her fast. “Forget it, I was kidding.”

“No, you weren’t.” Ann could feel her wife trying to catch her eye. “I think - Adney look at me. I think that would be, uh, really nice.”

“Forget it,” Ann said again, still wounded.

“Not bloody likely,” Anne ratcheted upright, her face nearly crashing into Ann’s. “Let’s do it.”

Ann pouted, staring at the hollow of her wife’s throat, avoiding her gaze. Anne grabbed her chin, and Ann met her dark, serious eyes. The hurt in her chest melted away. Anne kissed her gently, holding her close; Ann’s arms wrapped around her neck, relaxing into the warm comfort of her wife’s arms. Pulling away, a brilliant grin spread across her face.

“Oh, Miss Walker. I think this is very exciting.”

“Do you?” Ann asked softly.

“Do you think you can handle it?”

“Do you?”

“Oh, Miss Walker,” Anne grinned, falling backward and pulling Ann with her. 

Together, they shifted and twisted and laughed. It was awkward, a little, but Anne was patient. She didn’t mind when their knees knocked together or Ann nearly smacked her in the face trying to get balance. With a gentle smile, she settled her hands on Ann’s hips, allowing Ann to lean forward, planting her hands on either side of Anne’s head. They hissed in unison as their cores met. 

“There you go,” Anne encouraged, guiding Ann into a slow rhythm. “That’s it, darling.”

It was too much, really. The exertion, the tension, the intimacy. Anne’s dark eyes boring into her, her fingers flexing along her waist, her low voice murmuring in her ear. Closing her eyes, Ann focused on holding herself up and rolling her hips. 

“Fuck, Anne, it’s killing work.”

Anne’s throaty laughter filled the room, her lips finding Ann’s, then she was laughing again, slipping her hand between them. Ann’s arms shook; her abdominal muscles burned. Desire roiled in her stomach as she felt Anne’s knowing fingers stroke her clit.

“Not so easy, is it, my love?” Anne grinned, rolling her hips upward with force, clearly enjoying the reversal of their positions. “But you look so good.” Anne’s free hand found her breast, teasing her nipple. “I think I like this.” Ann whimpered, hurtling toward the edge. “Nice to be on my back.” Ann whined, impossibly more aroused by her wife’s arrogance. “Frees up my hands.” She kissed Ann’s neck, her sharp teeth finding her jugular. “Easy on the knees.”

And it was that, that ridiculous, cocky phrase, belied by Anne’s skillful hands on her bodies, her low voice, her knowing lips. Ann shot over the edge, mumbling and trembling and jerking her hips. She felt, faintly, the movement of Anne’s hand over her own clit, then her own shudders jostling Ann’s body. With a final moan, Ann flopped to the side, finding herself in that bloody divot.

“Fuck,” she whined, feeling her body sinking.

“Come here,” Anne’s voice was halfway between a growl and a laugh as she tugged Ann into her arms. Ann snuggled into her chest, relishing the way their bodies heaved in unison, the slick press of their skin, the way Anne’s hands danced up and down her spine. “How was it, Adney? You like being on top?”

“Absolutely not,” Ann whined. “Too much work.” Her entire body shook as Anne laughed below her. “But it does give me an idea.”

“What’s that?” Anne reached for the sheets, covering their slick bodies.

“We should go for a ride tomorrow.”

“What?” Anne chuckled, reaching for their book and her glasses. “Naughty girl.”

“Horses, Anne,” she chided. “Elizabeth and George have some horses.”

“Oh,” Anne shifted up in bed, “I don’t know, um-”

“Come on, Pony,” Ann teased. “Are you scared?”

“No!” 

“I think you are!”

“Shut up!”

They laughed, nestling together in that ridiculous bed. Anne clicked her tongue, flicking open the book. 

“Scared,” she scoffed, “Anne Lister. Scared.”

Ann smiled, closing her eyes; poor Anne, she thought, who had no idea what Marian had told her wife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Lots of super helpful comments on the last chapter about all the business with George - I hope this characterization/ explanation makes sense? It feels real to me. This is something I'm always struggling with in my writing - sometimes people just say dumb shit and there's not a clear motivation behind it. I've done a lot of theater in my life, and the rule there is that there's always a motive. But, like, that's not how it is in real life. Sometimes we just do stuff. The question, for me, is when to include that kind of behavior in a story and why. So, I think George had a knee-jerk reaction, but his conscious effort is to not be such a prick. I don't know. I almost regret the whole thing. I feel like I've made a mess of it. 
> 
> Smut based on "Miss Walker came to me at eight and ten minutes had shewed me her bosom and on my asking her took off her night things and stood naked so then got into bed and we had a kiss" (July 31 1834) and "I felt her over her chemise & this all but did the job for her. She owned she could not help it" (December 6 1832)
> 
> Sometimes these chapters come to me all at once and I can write them in a flash. And then other times I have to pull at it, poke it, prod it all day until it gets close to the right shape. Today was the latter. But, here we are, and there are parts I really like. Hope you enjoyed it as well :)
> 
> Thank you!!


	24. Riding Lessons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> present tense AND first-person POV? what am I trying to prove

I’m not afraid of horses. Can we get that much straight? Obviously. Anne Lister is not afraid of anything. Not some smelly, stomping, thousand-pound, unpredictable beast. Despite his enormous feet and coarse hair and grinding teeth. There’s no reason to be afraid. Which is why I’m not. Obviously.

This morning, I’m trying to slow my racing heart by… petting, I guess, is the word. Stroking that strong neck. Trying to calm myself with logic. Horses are very docile. The Sutherlands are sure to have an excellent stable. Ann didn’t seem to be worried at all. Now she’s off talking to George, accepting his apology, I guess, and I’m over here alone, with this unholy beast. 

Horses are… they’re just too bloody big, aren’t they? And too strong. What if they toss you right off? And then you’re seriously injured or just _dead_. Like Christopher Reeve or Roy Kinnear or that girl at Ripon - what was her name? Point being: there is a huge danger factor there. Why not climb a mountain or shoot a gun or have an affair with a married woman? Something _safe_.

“Hi, Pony,” Ann’s soft voice breaks into my thoughts. I turn around, my mouth watering at the sight of her. One benefit to this horseriding business is Ann’s little outfit. Apparently, she keeps these impossible riding pants and boots up here, at Elizabeth’s, because it’s the only place she rides. “Pick up your jaw. Are you ready?”

“I guess,” I shrug, rubbing my sweaty hands along my jeans. “So, what do we - uh - what do we do?”

“Well, Pony,” she drawls, “we get on the horses, and then we ride them around.”

I click my tongue, rolling my eyes. I don’t dare to tell her I’m not exactly sure how this whole process works. How do the horses get...dressed? How do they go from naked in these stalls to underneath me? Ann doesn’t seem to notice my hesitation, and she’s already pulling and strapping and patting. She murmurs softly to the dark one as she works, then turns to me.

“I think you’ll like Alfie, okay? He’s really gentle.”

I nod, eyes trained on her tight little bum as she sets about dressing the other one. How is she so… God, so hot? Something about the sure way that she goes about it, the curve of her ass and the line of her back, the leather. I can’t wait. Grabbing her by the wrist, I twist her into my arms, pulling us into the empty stall next door. 

“Adney,” I husk, “I think you’re doing this on purpose.”

Look, is it the most romantic spot? The faint smell of manure, the crunch of hay below us, the rough wood under my hand as I back my wife into the wall. Perhaps not. But I can’t ignore the way she’s been affecting me. The need I feel to kiss her, touch her, possess her. 

“Don’t distract me,” she whispers, toying with the collar of my shirt. “Even if you are afraid of horses.”

“I am not,” I bring our lips together soundly, “afraid of horses.”

“I think you are,” Ann breathes, and I bury my face in the crook of her neck. My hands run along her sides, up to her breasts, around to her ass. “Marian told me.”

“What!” I pull back. Leave it to Marian not only to embarrass me, but also to ruin a perfectly good stable shag. “She’s lying.”

“I don’t think she was lying, actually,” Ann kisses me once more. “Let’s go.”

“Just wait,” I press my body close to hers, “before we go…” my hand finds the button to those ridiculous trousers.

“No,” she drawls, twisting away, “no distractions.”

“Adney,” the faintest trace of a whine leaks into my voice. I really am powerfully aroused now, and the thought of spending all morning watching her jostle around, dressed like that, teasing me, her golden hair in the sun - fuck, it’s really going to be a long morning. “We can do it quickly.”

Ann laughs, shaking her head and disappearing from my view. I groan, forcing myself to go after her. Any other woman? I would not be following around like a droopy puppy. I see myself like one of those long-eared, sad-eyed dogs, following a pampered pooch, her hair freshly shampooed and tied up in ribbons. Rounding the corner, I am almost run over by the enormous beast Ann is leading out into the late morning sun. 

See? This is why horses should be avoided. Not out of fear. Good sense. 

“Need a leg up?” Ann offers, kneeling down and lacing her fingers together. 

There are many ways I will compromise (and have, in fact) for my lady, but being hoisted up onto this creature? Too embarrassing. I try to affect confidence, bending down to catch her lips. My fingertips brush across her cheek, into her hair; she stands, wrapping her arms around my hips. It’s perfect, the way our bodies fit together, and I start to wonder why I agreed to this. Wouldn’t we have as much fun tangled up in bed together? Probably more, I think, pulling away and shaking my head.

“Go on, then,” she slaps my behind, and I - well, I don’t yelp. I make a sound of surprise. 

I don’t pride myself on being graceful, but I am fairly athletic. I’m in good shape. I’m strong. Hell, I can hold a grown woman (albeit a petite one) up against a wall and fuck her senseless. There is no reason to believe I couldn’t get myself on a horse. 

And yet.

I can hear her laughing at me as I scramble upright, my face in that beast’s nasty mane, my legs splayed behind me as I wiggle myself into the saddle. I heave myself upright, and she’s there, laughing, sitting easily astride her horse. Her face is alight with my misfortune, her hands loosely holding the reins, her hair catching the sun as her head shakes.

“Shut up.” I’m sullen, and I know it. Ann’s laughter is one of my favorite sounds, but I don’t like to be the butt of it. She comes closer, leaning over to take the reins of my horse. “What?”

“You should hold onto these,” she says gently, pecking my cheek. “And wear this.

In her hand, to my horror, is a clunky, black helmet. My eyes shoot up at her. She wears a gentle smile, her eyes are soft - she’s serious!

“Ann.”

“Anne,” she pushes the helmet at me. “You said ‘head injury’ like three times in your sleep last night.”

“Where’s yours?” I try to retract my jutting lower lip, clipping the buckle under my chin. “I’m not changing your colostomy bag when you get paralyzed.”

“Right here,” Ann rolls her eyes, settling a much more stylish, pink helmet on her head. “And yes, Pony, you absolutely would.”

She’s right of course, so I follow her. Or at least I try. My horse, _Alfie_ (ridiculous), refuses to move. Ann somehow makes her horse _turn around_ , she clicks her tongue a few times, and Alife starts up. I trot after her, watching the way she bounces with the horse, how natural she seems, how her ponytail swishes behind her, how her tight ass -

“Pony! Come on!”

“How?” I call. “I’m not in charge of this thing.”

“You are, actually,” Ann slows down, coming to my side. “You’re the person. He’s the horse.”

“That’s exactly my point, Adney.”

You know what’s a great cure for fear? The gentle guidance of a beautiful woman. And that beautiful woman doing all of this? She’s your wife. The tinkling laughter and pats on the thigh and - Good heavens - the way her ass looks in those pants. And when she leans over to pat me I can almost see down her shirt. That alone is enough to distract me from the possibility that this beast bucks me off into paralysis and death. She’s alluring and beautiful, but she’s also patient and generous. I start to understand why all those little kids at the school love her so much. Because over the next two hours, my petite, dainty, weak-spined wife shows me how to ride a horse properly.

“Squeeze your heels in, Pony,” she tells me.

“Darling, like _this_ ,” she laughs.

“You’re doing very well,” she coos, and I could swoon if I were the type to swoon. She’s so good at this, natural and confident and undeniably sexy. “Just a little further.”

“And what?” I whine, almost uncomfortably aroused after this much teasing and torture. 

We’re riding side-by-side now, and I am having serious trouble keeping my eyes on the path ahead and not on her breasts as they bounce along with the rest of her body. The sun is almost directly above us now; the Sutherland estate is so rolling, expansive, and green, I feel a touch of jealousy. It’s plain, sure, not with the kind of gardening and flowering that I cultivate at Shibden, but it’s nice. An understated kind of elegance. I make a note to compliment George on it when we get back. Turning to tell Ann as much, I am met with empty air.

“Adney?”

“Are you going to join me?” Ann is on the ground, helmet in hand, leading her horse to a nearby pen. 

“If Alfred here feels like stopping.”

Ann laughs, taking him by the bridle and this beast stops immediately. I inhale, trying to dismount slowly. In my mind, it seems simple enough to swing one leg over the side and then drop to the ground. But in practice? I tumble to the ground, Ann’s tiny hand pressing into my belly and steadying me. She’s laughing again, leading Alfie to the enclosure with his friend. They’re grazing happily, and Ann saunters over to me.

“Hungry?” She whispers, stretching her arms around my neck. 

“Starved,” I husk, leaning down to catch her lips. 

It’s everything I’ve been aching for as we rode; her lips are soft, her fingers delicate as she unbuckles my stupid helmet. I hear a faint thunk as it hits the ground, and then her hands are in my hair, pulling me closer. Her hips are urgent, pressing into mine, and I find I can’t wait any longer. I long to push her roughly to the ground, but I do worry about her back. Instead, in my endless altruism, I fall backward, pulling her with me and coughing only slightly as I hit the ground. 

“Pony,” she laughs as I roll us over. “What if someone sees?”

“Anyone likely to come out here?” I breath into her neck, bunching up her shirt so I can get my hands on her chest. We both sigh as I slip under her bra, a tight, cotton, sporty thing, not the lace she usually wears; I find it stunningly arousing. “We can stop if-”

“Don’t you dare,” she grins, fumbling over my belt buckle. 

I can’t help grinning back, straddling her thigh and catching her lips again. This is one of the very best things about being in love with Ann Walker. She seems fragile and shy, but, in actuality, she’s incredibly brave. Adores risks. Easily aroused. Honestly, almost has the same libido I do. No small feat. 

“Pony,” she whines, arching her back into my touch, rolling her hips against my thigh. 

“What do you think?” I nose my way under the collar of her shirt, breathing deeply of that scent that lives in the crook of her neck. I trail one hand down to her waistband, flicking open the button to those ridiculous trousers. “What would someone think? If they saw you right now? Saw us?”

Ann whimpers, her hips rolling up into my touch. Good Lord, how is she so wet? I figure I’m in a similar situation, to be honest, and start grinding against her thigh. I’m overwhelmed by how much I need her; the tension that’s been building all morning has me almost feral as I thrust inside of her. We moan in unison - God, how did I even resist as long as I did? I should get a medal, I think, rutting into her urgently and relishing the way her center clutches around me. The heel of my hand finds her clit, grinding against it with every thrust.

“God, Pony.” Her voice is high, breathy, needy - perfection. Her fingers dig into my skin, her hips bucking into my hand. “Yes, Pony, yes.” 

That’s how I know - those mumbled affirmatives, her leg tightening around my waist, the insistent, upward press of her chest into mine - she’s almost there. And it’s good, it’s so good, I almost wish it would never end. I could drown in this feeling, the way her walls start to flutter around my fingers, the incredible satisfaction of sending Ann Walker into a shaking release. 

“Yes, yes, yes, PonyPonyPony,” she's panting, her words twisting together as she seizes below me, her hips jerking, her core clenching, her back arching. “Oh, fuck, Pony, yes.”

She relaxes back into the grass, her arms and legs flopping in relief. I kiss her once, twice, then sit back on my heels. Her stomach is still exposed, her breasts heaving as she catches her breath. I wait, patiently, and sit smugly in my success. Damn, I should’ve noted the time. Could’ve been a record. I’ve gotten quite good at this, I muse, this whole waiting thing. As much as my clit pulses, it’s not worth it to touch myself. It’s always a disappointment, any orgasm that doesn’t come from Ann. As excruciating as the waiting is. I grind my hips into her thigh again, hoping to speed up this recovery. She grins, but her eyes are still closed. 

“Pony,” her voice is sing-songy, “you can’t give me a minute?”

“It’s been sixty-eight seconds, Miss Walker,” I tease. 

With unsteady arms, she forces herself into a sitting position. She kisses me once, her tongue dancing with mine, and then she pulls back, her eyes alight with mischief. I wonder what she has planned, and then my back hits the grass.

“Adney!” I laugh, lifting my hips as I feel her fingers curl around my waistband. “What are you -”

Oh, well, it’s obvious now. She tugs my jeans and boxer-briefs to the middle of my thighs, and I twitch at the scratchy feeling of grass against my bum. Her lips connect with my stomach, my hip bones, the apex of my thighs. 

“Adney.” It’s a moan this time, low and breathy and unabashed. There’s no shame here, not with the way Ann’s tongue moves over my clit or the way her hands grip lightly at my hips or the way her hair wraps itself around my fingers as I try to hold her closer. “Adney, Adney, Adney.”

If I had been burning before, this was a wildfire. Watching Ann? With her confidence around the animals and her tight trousers and her bouncing breasts? A spark to dry kindling. Then taking her fiercely, fast in the grass? A bonfire. But now? Ann’s impeccable mouth working my center? Paired with the way she hums as she works, a sort of contented sound that vibrates against my skin? The fire expands, lapping between my thighs. My hips buck, my thighs tremble, my lips moving soundlessly as that fire consumes me. 

“Adney, Adney, oh, fu- Ad- baby.” I collapse with a sigh, reveling in the warm pleasure rolling through my body. “How the - holy - I -” I can’t form a full sentence. I can only pant in relief, tugging her upward until our lips meet. The taste of my own arousal on her tongue? I moan into the kiss, and she flops to my side. I pull up my trousers, leaving them unbuttoned. “Good Lord.”

“Was it worth it, Pony?” She traces her finger over my stomach; I can’t help my muscles clenching under her tender touch. “All that riding?”

“Oh, yes,” I grin, “but you, darling, you didn’t ride at all.”

“What?” Ann laughs, and I take her by the hips, lifting her up and into my lap. Sitting up, I catch her lips, splaying my hand between her shoulder blades, the other finding her breast again. She breaks the kiss, toying with my collar and arching into my hand. “And am I going to ride you, my Pony?”

“I think you’d better,” I breathe, teasing her nipple between my fingers. “How else are you going to -” damn, I’d had something for this. I spent half of our journey coming up with various “riding” puns, but somewhere between Ann’s orgasm and mine, I’d lost it. “Uh, how else are you going to get where you’re going?”

“Oh, Pony,” she laughs, “not, perhaps, your best line.”

“Take it or leave it, Miss Walker,” I laugh. “Do you want a ride or not?”

“I do,” her lips ghost across mine, “of course, I do.”

Grinning, I kiss her again. I can’t give up the feeling of her breast, not yet, so I trail my other hand down her back, into her trousers, giving her ass a squeeze, before I find that sweet, wet spot between her legs. She hisses as I tease her clit, rolling her hips in a slow rhythm. 

“Please.”

It’s all I need to trek lower, to probe her entrance, to slip a single finger in, then another. My lips find her neck, the hollow of her throat, the sharp jut of her chin. I’m now able to relinquish her breast, and I move down to grip her hip, guiding her gentle grind. I adore this - well, I adore everything we do together - but I love supporting her like this. Like last night, when she’d wanted to lead our intricate dance; I am more than pleased to be responsible for the debauchery of the innocent Ann Walker, and every new and dirty thing we do fills my chest with pride. Well, pride and arousal.

“More, Pony,” she whines, her hips rutting against me. Her hands dig into my shoulders, and her knees squeeze against my hips. I nip at her jugular as I slide my ring finger inside; my thumb strokes her clit. She gasps, “fuck.”

“Good girl,” I whisper in her ear, urging her hips faster. “That’s right.” I spank her, my palm falling crisply across her pert behind. “Feels good, doesn’t it, baby?” I know full-well the effect this petname has on her. “Riding my hand?” I slap her ass again. “In the middle of a field?” She whines into my shoulder, bouncing harder now, desperate. “Dirty girl.” I slap her once more, and she’s coming. Seizing around my hand. Gasping and shaking and shuddering in my arms. “Oh, Adney,” I grin, “that’s it. There it is.”

I ease her through, and then she is panting, laughing and grinning and kissing me again. I slide my hand out, slipping it under the back of her shirt and holding her close. Nothing better than this, I know, nothing better than holding my wife close in the afterglow of an excellent orgasm. She pulls away, shakes her head, kisses me, pulls away.

“Oh, Pony,” she grins, pushing me back into the grass. “I love you.”

I’m glad her head is snuggled into my chest, because I have the dopiest smile on my face. I’m not sure when exactly I transitioned from cynical, brusque, all-black-everything Anne Lister into this sentimental, patient, whatever-you-say-baby Anne Lister. But the transition is complete, and I find I don’t even mind. We spend over an hour cuddled up like that, in the grass, the bright blue Scottish sky above us. Ann’s comforting weight on my chest, our legs intertwined, her delicate fingers tracing my shoulder, my arm, my fingers. 

"Do you know why I call you Pony?" She asks.

"No." I've wondered, sure, but she's never said.

"That's what you remind me of. Even back when we first started. Earlier, even, when you used to come around the house when I was young. Ponies are smaller than horses, but I think they're smarter in a lot of cases. Stronger. Lots of endurance." She pinches my side, and we both laugh. "I've always preferred ponies. Been drawn to them my entire life, just like I've always been drawn to you."

"Ann." It's all I can manage, with the lump in my throat and my chest surely overflowing with love. I wonder if I will cry, right here in this Scottish field. 

"Ponies are also notoriously stubborn, did you know that?"

"What?" I laugh now, craning my neck to catch her eye.

She scrambles upright, giggling and pulling me with her. 

“That's why I love you, Anne Lister. You're strong and wiry and intelligent. And I've felt this connection to you, for as long as I can remember. You and ponies. Even when I was at my lowest, I would always feel better if I could go for a ride. Or if you came round. Anne Lister and ponies. The only two creatures on this planet that have always, always made me feel alive.” She pulls me flush. “Let’s go back.”

I kiss her deeply, wishing I could find the words to express what her sharing this means to me. I release her eventually, letting her wrangle those beasts from their pen. I climb into that saddle of that menace Alfie, as gracefully as I can, though Ann is still giggling at me as we set off for the house. The ride back seems infinitely shorter than the ride out, and I find my arousal simmering as we approach the stable. My wife is showing off now, going faster and turning around to tease me, then slowing down and reaching out for me. At one point she rises up in the stirrups and wraps her hand around my neck, bringing our lips together for a moment. I'm not sure I’ve ever been more aroused by any one action. We reach the stable, and I dismount in a hurry, watching my wife move about with such confidence and assurance. By the time Ann has done everything that apparently needs to be done, I’m mad with want again. Pressing her into the rough wall, I kiss her lips fiercely, my hands already fiddling with her waistband.

“Upstairs,” she gasps.

“I can’t wait,” I growl, thinking she means the house. 

“There’s a hayloft,” she whispers. “In case someone comes by.”

She leads me by the hand, climbing up the rickety ladder ahead of me. I bite my lip as I follow, her ass swaying in front of me as we ascended. She grabs me by the collar, shoving me into the rough-hewn wall. Before I realize what’s happened, my belt is jangling around my hips and Ann’s sure fingers have found my clit. She’s kissing my neck, gripping my shoulder, strumming my clit. It’s all I can do to hold on.

“Ann,” I gasp, caught between the scratchy stable wall and my wife’s warm body. “Fuck, Ann, I-”

And then there’s a grunt from below. The shuffle of boots. A low, unfamiliar voice. The whinny of a horse. Ann’s startled eyes meet my own. Her hand retracts a fraction of an inch, but I grab her wrist.

“Please,” I whisper. I’m desperate, so close to the edge that I’m certain if she pulls away I will, actually, in fact, die. “Adney, please.”

We hover between moments, and I’m morbidly afraid she’ll deny me. But then the boots retreat, and it’s silent. She smiles, kisses me, starts again. It’s only a moment before I shudder and slump forward onto the comforting slope of her shoulder. Her soft assurances fill my ear as I catch my breath; one dainty hand rubs my back, the other easing away from my core. 

“Shameless,” she says as I straighten. “What if we’d been caught?”

“I don’t care,” I husk, walking her backward and wrenching open those tight little riding pants. “Oh, Miss Walker, I’m going to fuc—”

The boots are back. A male voice, but not one I recognize. Ann blanches, fumbling over my belt. I do my best to straighten her shirt, smooth out her hair where I’ve mussed it. We stumble down the ladder and find a young man in jeans and a work shirt. 

“Hello, Mr. Sykes,” Ann says, and I can tell she’s struggling to keep her breath even. “I was jus—”

It’s then that I follow the man’s eyes to Ann’s chest. I’m prepared to deck him for ogling her, but then my eyes drop lower. Those tight little riding pants? Still open at the waist. I wrap an arm around her waist, pulling her into my side, shielding the hint of pink underwear beneath. 

“We’ll be out of your hair then, Mr. Sykes,” I say curtly, tugging my wife out into the afternoon.

As soon as we are out of earshot, I break out laughing, zipping and buttoning her trousers. Her face registers confusion, then she groans.

“Pony! Oh my God!”

“I don’t think he actually saw,” I assure her. “His eyes were rather focused,” I look pointedly at her breasts, “elsewhere.”

She laughs and smacks my arm. I take her waist as we walk toward the house, leaning down to whisper in her ear.

“Now, Adney, you’ve taught me a lot today, but perhaps there are a few things I can still teach you,” I nip her earlobe, “about riding.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Ending based on "When we got home I took her into the stables. I thought not of James Sykes being at his dinner in the barn & believe he must have heard me say, 'I have brought you in here to give you a kiss.'" May 4, 1826. Let the record forever reflect that Anne Lister was an absolute horndog who got it on in the stables, even if it was 1826. Shameless.
> 
> So the Pony origin and Anne's fear of horses are not actually based on fact, but I think they work. Why didn't Anne ride more? All those trips back and forth to Crow Nest - seems like she could've saved some time. Maybe that wasn't the proper thing. We know Ann was a skilled rider. [insert dirty joke here]
> 
> Also, to my UK readers: does it being this midterm break mean I've missed Halloween? 
> 
> Thank you for reading! I love love love your feedback! Y'all are the greatest


	25. Twenty Questions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why haven't we heard from Liz yet? Now we do

“Have you drawn up the pre-nup?” Elizabeth asked frankly, staring down her sister and future sister-in-law. 

They were lounging in the garden, cigar smoke swirling around them; Elizabeth and George were on the matching chairs facing the house, Anne and Ann on the bench facing them, backs to the building. Bourbon and cigars and conversation made for a perfect nightcap. The children were in bed, the sun had set, and Elizabeth was relishing the brief evening hour in which she got to be an actual person, not just a mum. Elizbeth was enjoying this brief reprieve, especially with her baby sister in town. Ann and Lister would leave in the morning, and she still had a few questions for the latter.

“The what?” Lister asked, her eyes wide. She was twirling a cigar between her fingers, a movement that could almost be interpreted as nervous; Elizabeth was grateful George had offered her one. The tension between those two had greatly diminished, though Elizabeth liked to believe it had more to do with the bollocking she’d given her husband that night, rather than Lister’s speech. Either way, peace reigned.

“Prenuptial agreement. I assumed you and Ann had already discussed it.”

“Oh, uh,” Lister faltered, looking at Ann.

“We haven’t,” Ann said pointedly, in that “lay off her, Liz” tone, but Elizabeth didn’t care. 

“I think you should. George and I have one.”

“Keeps everyone safe,” her husband chimed in. “Doesn’t have to be uncomfortable.”

“Well, uh, we’ll have to look into that,” Lister said uneasily, turning to her fiancée. 

“Right,” Ann nodded, taking her hand. 

Narrowing her eyes, Elizabeth considered them. They certainly seemed happy together. In fact, she’d never seen her sister so at ease, so relaxed. Lister was a good woman, earnest and serious most of the time. She was certainly good with the kids, which seemed to be as much of a surprise to Lister as anyone else. Elizabeth wondered how she could draw out the playful side that Ann had described. She leaned forward.

“What do you do for fun, Dr. Lister?”

“Read,” she shrugged. “Garden. Walk. Spend time with my family.”

Boring.

“Favorite movie?”

“ _The Fugitive_ \- er, no, maybe _Now, Voyager_. Or _Rebecca_! Definitely _Rebecca_.”

“So the story of a young wife living in the shadow of the first?” Elizabeth pressed. “Isn’t that a little close to home?”

Lister’s mouth twitched, and Elizabeth knew she’d hit a nerve. Always telling to see how a person reacts when they’re angry. She watched her sister put a hand lightly on the older woman’s knee. 

“And in fact doesn’t Maxim confess that his first marriage was a sham? That Rebecca was conniving and unfaithful and that he hated her?” Lister’s response came easily, smoke billowing out of her nostrils. “Perhaps it is close to home.”

“And then their housekeeper burns the house down!” George laughed. “Hope that one doesn’t come true.”

They all four laughed together, though Elizabeth didn’t find the joke terribly funny. Her husband was good for this, she could concede; he was adept at finding the easy, comfortable comment that would set a party at ease. She turned to him, studying his hawkish nose and firm jaw. There was still love there, appreciation certainly, if not the kind of overt sexual chemistry that exuded from her sister and her partner. She felt a competitive sort of desire to take George’s hand in the way that Ann held Lister’s, but it didn’t feel natural. 

They had never been the couple of lingering touches and long afternoon lovemaking. They were practical and efficient and goal-oriented. Not terribly romantic, but it did work. Didn’t they have three healthy children? A thriving estate? Wasn’t that enough? It was for Elizabeth, and it had been for years. It had been her whole idea, when she first approached George in university. She’d set a plan for their lives, checking off the estate, the children - so far, so good. Ann was always so much more romantic than she, dreaming of white knights and grand gestures and the Mistress of Shibden Hall.

“Do you smoke often?” She turned her attention back to her interview.

“Liz, give it a rest,” Ann sighed.

“It’s okay,” Lister squeezed her hand. “I don’t really. Have to confess to a puff or two when I’m pissed,” she laughed, echoed by George. Elizabeth resisted the urge to kick him for taking her side. “And your husband was generous enough to offer. I should hate to be rude and decline.”

“Right glad I am that you didn’t,” George said jovially. “Hate to be the only one.”

“How much do you drink, on average?”

“A few glasses a week. Not every night.” Lister shrugged. “Not sure if you knew this about me, but I’m a bit of a control freak. Being inebriated isn't exactly cohesive with that.”

“And yet,” Elizabeth eyes danced - she’d found a hole in Lister’s armor, “you brought my baby sister home drunk just the other night. So drunk, in fact, that you left my car at a pub in town. How often does that happen?”

“Oh, uh,” Lister faltered; the thrill of victory spread across Elizabeth’s face, “I was just - you know, we were - well, I was rather caught up, I guess. Being out and about. I didn’t mean to - I’m sorry for leaving your car.”

“I heard you two were pretty close in that booth,” George interjected. 

Elizabeth assessed him - he didn’t seem upset. More like pleased. Like he was teasing one of his buddies about a recent conquest. Elizabeth couldn’t decide if she liked that or not - it meant he was accepting of their sexual relationship (pro), but it meant he was thinking of Lister as his buddy and Ann as a piece of tail (con). She bit her tongue, eager for Lister’s response.

“Oh, well, you know how it is,” Lister seemed almost sheepish, “when you’re in a pub, with a beautiful girl.” She shrugged. “I hope we didn’t embarrass you.”

“No, no.” George was being extremely generous; perhaps it’s the bourbon, Elizabeth thought. “Just heard from a mate how happy you two seemed to be. He was right jealous,” George laughed, “been trying to get that one for years!”

And they laughed again, Ann’s pale face turning pink. Elizabeth wracked her brain, trying to think of all the questions she’d meant to ask her future sister-in-law. 

“You’re doing pretty well,” she conceded. Lister tipped her head. “Lightning round.”

“Liz,” George chuckled, “leave her alone.”

“It’s okay,” Lister twirled her finger. “Bring it on.”

“When’s Ann’s birthday?”  
“20th of May.”

“What’d you get her this year?”

“A sketch pad. A paint set. A-”

Her sister’s hand shot out, squeezing Lister’s forearm. Her jaw clamped shut. Something dirty, Elizabeth figured. Fair enough.

“What’s her favorite food?”

“Crisps.” Lister turned to Ann. “Toast.” Ann flushed. “Chocolate.” She turned back to Elizabeth, her eyes betraying her insecurity. “Did I get it right?”

“I’ll allow it. What’s her favorite color?”

“Is this the newlywed game?” George nudged her knee with his own; she clicked her tongue in annoyance. Still, there was a spark, when their knees touched. Maybe Ann and Anne were rubbing off on them. 

“Pink,” Lister said evenly.

Elizabeth made a buzzer sound.

“Black,” she said smugly.

“What?” Lister’s jaw dropped, halfway between a laugh and a shout. “I don’t think so. Darling, what’s your favorite color?”

“You two,” Ann said with a shake of her head. “Think you know me so well. My favorite color was black growing up because there was this really fit woman who lived next door who always wore black. Pink is my favorite color for clothes, because it goes well with my complexion. In actuality, my favorite color is light green.”

Lister and Elizabeth stared at this little blonde spitfire for a moment, dumbfounded. Then deep, throaty laughter erupted from George Sutherland. Ann followed suit, then Elizabeth, then Lister. Soon they were all laughing, wiping their tears and clapping their hands. 

“Mummy?” A small voice broke into their revelry. 

At the doorway from the house stood Mary, in her tiny little pajamas, stuffed frog under her arm, her hair sticking up at all angles. Elizabeth held out her arms to her youngest, who climbed happily into her lap. Mary had been waking up in the night lately, and Elizabeth suspected some of it was because she rewarded her like this. Let her hang out with the adults until she was sleepy again. But Elizabeth could never deny her first baby, and she groaned happily as she settled on her knee.

“And what are you doing?” George asked playfully. “Too late for little girls to be out of bed.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” she pouted, her eyes trained on her aunts’ hands clasped together. “Wanted to see Aunty Walker.”

“Did you?” Ann smiled, reaching out; Elizabeth sighed at the loss of her child, who was always so entranced with her Aunty Walker. George put an arm around her; he knew how illogically insecure she got. “Come here, my darling. Are you going to miss me?”

“Yes!” She tugged at Lister’s tie. “Why do you wear this?”

“Well,” Lister said patiently, “I went for a ride with your Aunty Walker this afternoon, and then I was so dirty. So I thought, maybe, I should get all clean and dressed up for dinner tonight.”

Mary nodded, still fiddling with the soft knit of the tie. Elizabeth tensed, worried her daughter would ask something inappropriate. She’d been so obsessed with questions lately, who people were and how they knew each other and what they were doing. Perhaps it was genetic.

“My Daddy wears this.”

“He does,” Ann said encouragingly. “He looks very handsome in a tie, doesn’t he?”

Mary nodded, looking from her father to Lister. 

“My brother wears one too.”

“Sure,” Lister nodded.

“But I don’t.”

“Okay,” Lister looked to Elizabeth, a question in her eyes.

“Mummy said girls don’t wear those.”

“Oh, well-” Elizabeth tried to interject.

“So if you’re my _Aunty_ Lister, why do you wear that?”

Lister looked to Elizabeth, then George, her lips parted as if unsure of what to say, or what she was allowed to say. Elizabeth braced herself for some long-winded Lister speech about gender presentation that would certainly be inappropriate for a five-year-old. And how would George react? He was so traditional in so many ways; he’d come a long way with these two, but this might be pushing it.

“Well, Mary,” Lister said gently, leaning down to meet her eyes. “Some girls do wear these. And some girls wear dresses. Do you like to wear dresses?”

“Yes,” Mary said seriously, her tiny brows knit together in concentration. 

“I don’t,” Lister shrugged with a smile, “so I wear this instead, when I want to look fancy.”

“Why don’t you like dresses?”

“Why don’t you like cauliflower?” Lister countered. Mary had refused to eat them at dinner. 

“Because it’s icky!”

“See? There you go. I like cauliflower, but I don’t like dresses. You don’t like cauliflower, but you like dresses. Aunty Walker likes both.”

“Anne!” Ann laughed and smacked her arm.

Mary seemed satisfied and leaned back against her aunt’s chest. The adults smiled that tentative smile of people with nothing to say. George stood.

“I think someone had better go to bed,” he said pointedly, though not unkindly.

“Alright, alright,” Ann answered playfully, “I’ll go.”

Elizabeth grinned, watching her sister cajole her daughter upstairs, followed closely by her husband. She sighed in contentment before turning her attention back to Lister. 

“You did very well with that.”

“I hope it was okay. I wasn’t really sure little Mary was ready for a full history of the butch identity.”

“No,” Elizabeth laughed, “I guess not.”

“So have I passed? Do I get the stamp of approval?”

“Tentatively,” Elizabeth leaned forward. “Can I ask you some intimate questions?”

“How intimate?” Lister met her gaze, her jaw set defiantly. “I don’t think Ann would be comfortable -”

“Not your sex life, Lister, Jesus!” 

“Oh.”

“What’s Ann’s love language?” 

“Words of affirmation,” Lister replied easily. “We haven’t done the quiz or whatever, but that’s what it is. Praise. Comfort.”

“And what’s yours?”

“Physical touch.” Elizabeth opened her mouth. “Don’t do it - don’t make a dirty joke,” Lister grinned. “I know, I know how it sounds, but that’s how I’ve always been. Though, for Ann, it might be acts of service. My sister says I’m whipped.”

Elizabeth laughed, throwing her head back and surveying the dark Scottish sky. She’d suspected as much, with the effect a quiet whisper seemed to have on Lister. The talk of Anne’s building a studio for her, the massages - though, actually that was physical touch as well, wasn’t it? 

“What’s your five-year plan, Lister?”

“Marry your sister. Permanent Department Head. I have some specific improvements to Shibden, but I’d hate for you to fall asleep out here.”

“Okay,” Elizabeth chuckled, “that’s fine. What about children?”

“Good Lord,” Anne shook her head with a smile, “that’s all we seem to be able to talk about. Ann and I have asked the same question. We don’t know. We can’t decide. It’s too soon.”

“Correct. It’s much too soon. I do think you’d be a good mum, though. Both of you.”

“Thank you.” The reply was soft, almost shy. 

“When did you fall in love with her?” Elizabeth dared. This was the question she really wanted to know, had wanted to know since the first time they spoke over Skype, all those months ago. “When did it become real?”

“It was always real, Elizabeth.”

“Dr. Lister, you forget that I grew up in Halifax, too.” Elizabeth was smiling, even if her words were serious. “I heard all about the women you charmed into bed, only to leave them the next morning. When did it turn from a game into something real?”

Lister considered for a moment, her jaw twitching as she studied the ground in front of her. Elizabeth wondered if she wasn’t sure how to articulate her answer, if she couldn’t pick from many moments, or if she simply didn’t know. All the rest of the questions meant nothing compared to this one. This was what she’d been building to all week. 

“Do you want the clean version or the dirty version?”

Lister had half a smirk on her face, and Elizabeth could tell by her tone that she was trying to be playful. She was not about to let Lister off that easily.

“Both.”

“Well, without being too graphic,” Lister sighs and leans back, “the connection I have felt to Ann since the first day we met - well the first day we really met last March - it’s unparalleled. That’s important to me. It’s not, um, simple, being me. Living in my body. But Ann understands it - me - in a way that truly no one else ever has. All of my past, uh, partners combined do not hold a candle to Ann Walker. That’s the dirty answer.”

It’s not exactly comfortable, this dancing around the clearly passionate sex Anne Lister has been having with her sister, but Elizabeth willed herself to swallow her discomfort. It’s understandable, she figured, that a woman like Anne Lister would consider sexual intimacy paramount in choosing a wife. Even if it didn’t matter so much to Elizabeth, she knew it did for others.

“What’s the clean answer, you horndog?”

Lister laughed. The tension broke. 

“The clean answer is that on the Thursday of the first week we were together, Ann threw her back out. Honestly, I thought it was because of - of what I was talking about earlier.” Was that the hint of a blush creeping up Anne Lister’s neck? “But she set me straight, told me about her chronic back problems. And, uh, and I took care of her. Which, really, you must understand I do not do, as a rule. Cramps or fatigue or any sort of medical concern - go to your husband. Right? It sounds harsh, but really, that was my life. But with Ann, I don’t know.” She paused, staring out past Elizabeth’s shoulder. “I wanted to protect her and make sure she was okay and felt better and - I sound like a sap, huh?” Elizabeth shook her head. “Well, I ran her a bath and then read aloud to her and - it was the most pleasant morning I’d ever spent. At least, with all my clothes on.”

Elizabeth laughed and stood. Anne looked up sheepishly.

“Did I pass?”

“Yes,” Elizabeth said genuinely. “You did.” She squeezed Lister’s broad shoulder. “I’m pleased to have you in our family.”

“Thank you, Elizabeth.” Anne’s gravelly voice betrayed the barest hint of a quaver. 

“Good night, Anne,” she whispered.

Taking a step away, Elizabeth lifted her head to see her sister hovering in the doorway, biting her quivering lip. From this vantage point, Ann would’ve been able to see them, hear them; Anne couldn’t. Elizabeth pulled away, but Anne’s strong fingers wrapped around her wrist; she turned back to the brunette. 

“She means everything to me,” Anne said seriously. “Please understand that.”

“Good night, Anne,” she said again, smiling first at Anne, then at her sister.

She kissed Ann on the cheek as she passed, leaving the lovers to it. She hoped they wouldn’t defile her lawn furniture, or, at least, not too much. Her children were sleeping peacefully when she peeked in on them, and George was brushing his teeth by the time she made it to their bedroom. He wore only his boxers, and she felt an inkling of desire. Maybe Ann’s relationship really did rub off on her. 

“What?” He said over his shoulder, catching her eye in the mirror. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“What if we had sex tonight?” She said in the offhanded way she always approached these things. Some people were awkward about sex, but she never had been. Why bother? 

“Yeah?” His face lit up.

“Yeah,” she said thoughtfully. “Why not?”

“I think I’m a little gassy,” he said, rubbing his stomach, “but I can work through it.”

She scoffed and laughed, wondering how often her sister had to hear about Anne Lister’s bowels. Married life was not always glamorous. She started patting her pockets. Quirking an eyebrow, her husband titled his head back to study her. 

“What’s going on with you?” He asked, leaning back against the vanity.

“Damn, I think I left my phone downstairs.”

Elizabeth raced down to the garden, stopping short at the sight on the bench. Her sister’s blonde hair, swishing in the moonlight, her face turned upward, eyes closed. The white flash of Anne’s shirt stretching across her broad back. Soft giggles trailing through the air. Dark hair twisting around her sister’s fingers, holding that dark head to the crook of her neck. She turned away, with a flushed smile and a twinge of embarrassment. So much for not defiling the furniture.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> So Elizabeth was actually harder to capture than I thought, but I wanted to wrap up her little inquisition. Just get a bit more of the family. What do we think?
> 
> Or move on to the next chapter! Two in a day! YES!


	26. Thick Walls Save Lives

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like Thick Thighs Save Lives? See myself out? Okay  
> Also, if, uh, if "Daddy" is going to turn you off, maybe, uh, maybe skip to the end.

“I think you’d be a great mum,” I tell her, my eyes traveling across the broad expanse of her back. Liz’s inquisition had paired with Anne’s sweet interaction with Mary to form an intensely arousing cocktail. Not to mention that ridiculously hot black tie and starkly white shirt. I’d begged her to keep it on once we got upstairs. Well, after she’d taken me rather roughly up against that door. Thank heavens for Liz’s thick walls.

“Oh would I?” Anne laughs, turning back to me, the strap standing proudly between her legs. She gestures to it vaguley. “Not so sure about that.”

“Come here,” I whisper, biting my lip and trying to build up my courage. She kneels on the bed, and I wrap my fingers around one side of the harness. “Perhaps not Mum, tonight. What if I said,” I swallow; when did my throat get so dry? “Daddy?”

Anne’s jaw drops open, her eyes as wide as I've ever seen them. I’d wondered about this particular word for a while, my core twitching the more I thought about it. It just… felt right. I didn’t have the words to articulate why or how or what, but I knew it excited me. It fit. And now, looking up at my wife, I’m terrified she’ll deny me.

“Really?” She breathes, cupping my face. 

“Does that make you hot?” I pause; her jaw twitches. “Because, Pony, really it makes me so hot I can’t even think.”

“Adney,” she strokes my cheek with her thumb. “Oh, that makes me so - fuck, Ann.”

And then she’s kissing me, and it’s fierce and tender and wet and brutal and I can’t breathe and I’m breaking away, falling onto the pillows of that stupid narrow bed.

“Daddy,” I moan, wrapping my arms around her neck. “Fuck me.”

“Oh, Adney,” she breathes into my neck. “Fuck.” She finds my clit. Her body radiates heat, heavy and rolling above me. “Say it again.”

“Daddy,” I sigh, wrapping one hand around her tie, pulling her lips to mine.

And she’s - God, I can’t even describe it. I’m on fire, my entire body, bathing in the intense pleasure quickly enveloping me. Honestly, I’m starting to worry that I’ll come before she can even get her cock in me. I break away again, pushing her shoulders back. She’s panting, her lips swollen and slack. For a beat, we just stare at each other; the room swells with tension and desire and potential. 

“Lie back,” she husks. 

Her voice is low and gravelly and - Good Lord - it licks between my legs like her tongue was actually there. If the look on her face is any indication, I might actually die tonight, and I’m okay with that. To die in Anne Lister’s arms? Her lips on mine? Her cock -

“Oh, Daddy,” I whine; she’s pushing into me. It’s exquisite, this moment, when I’m adjusting and stretching and trying to accommodate the enormity of Anne’s love. 

“That’s right, baby,” she purrs, her hands slipping between my back and the bed, holding me close. “You’re so tight. Oh,” she starts to pull back. I hiss at the loss of her, “yes, baby, that’s exactly it.”

She pushes forward, and one hand finds my breast. It’s torture, this slowness. I know it’s necessary, I know that, but damn it, if I don’t need her to hurry it up.

“So impatient,” she growls, teeth sinking into my neck. “I should punish you, baby.”

“No, no, no!” I’m desperate, clutching at her back. “Please, please.”

“Please what?” She pulls away, her dark eyes locking onto mine, her hips absolutely frozen. 

“Please Po-” Oh. I see now. “Please, Daddy.”

“There she is,” she grins, driving back into me. I cry out. “Don’t forget, Adney daring.” She pulls back. “To whom you belong.” She thrusts forward. “That you’re mine.”

And then it’s on. Anne always gets like this with the strap - possessive, rough, unrelenting. It’s my favorite. 

Electricity dances over my skin. From my breasts, where her strong hands are working, alternating and rolling and tweaking. Across my collar bone, where her mouth is sucking and biting and lapping. Between my legs, where she is rutting into me over and over. Below my heels, which are pressing into her lower back. Beneath my fingertips, clutching and grasping and clinging to her. I worry, for a brief moment, that I’ll rip her shirt. 

Beneath the slick slap of our skin, beneath the low grunts from the chest of her, beneath the faint squeak of the bed frame, are my own desperate, needy cries.

“Daddy,” I hear myself whining.

“Fuck, Daddy, yes,” and I almost can’t believe it’s me saying these words. These filthy words that seem to spur my wife on. That send floods of arousal between my legs. That are driving me absolutely mad. 

“Daddy!” It’s a scream this time. God help me, if these walls aren’t as thick as I think. 

She rises up, on her knees now, never faltering her rhythm. Her tie dangles over my chest, and her hands wrap around my hips, and she’s pounding into me, and - oh God - I can’t stand it. 

“Yes, Daddy,” I moan. “Right there.” How is she hitting that spot that one -“Fuck!” I cry, my hips bucking into hers. “Daddy, please.” I’m so close, but she’s not - why won’t she touch her where I need her most? “Please, Daddy, please.”

“What?” She’s grinning, and it’s making me insane. I wrap one hand in her tie, tugging urgently. “Use your words, baby.”

“Touch me.” It’s a breath. It’s all I can manage. 

“I am touching you.” She’s got that smug grin on. Her hands tighten around my hips. 

Should I strangle her now, I wonder, or wait? 

My climax is coiling in my gut, but it’s not enough. I know what I need, and she knows what I need, and she won’t even do anything? I’m at her mercy, but I’m not powerless. With a shaking hand, I find my clit. A wanton moan leaves my lips. It’s everything I’m aching for, and I can feel my core clenching around Anne’s cock, and it’s perfect, I’m almost there, and-

A strong hand catches mine, planting it back against the bed, above my head. 

“Pony!”

“Uh-unh,” she chides, taking my other wandering hand, pinning it with the other. “Not Pony.”

Oh, God, she’s sort of a prick, isn’t she? 

“Daddy,” I say, and I know I’m being a brat. I buck my hips up into hers; she's thrusting evenly, deeply, but not fast enough. 

“Better,” she teases my lips and releases my hands, “but I don’t think you mean it.”

And then she - God, maybe I’ll never forgive her - she stops. She freezes, the cock halfway in and halfway out, her hands limp around my hips. A smirk plays at the corner of her mouth. I tug her tie, hard, and our lips crash together. My free hand grips the back of her head, my tongue shoves its way into her mouth, my hips roll against hers. I break away, gasping.

“Touch me, Daddy.”

She groans and pins my hands above my head again. She kisses me, fiercely, then pulls away, her fingertips finding my clit, her hips resuming their punishing rhythm. I could drown in her eyes, as deep and dark and soft as they are. That electricity? It’s concentrated in my clit now, sending shockwaves throughout my body. My thighs tighten around her waist; my muscles are burning, but I need her deeper. 

“Say it,” she growls. “Say it again, baby.”

“Daddy,” I mumble as my climax laps at my feet. “Make me come, Daddy. I’m so - yes, Daddy, yes, yes,” there’s no stopping it now, the way my body curls and my muscles clench and my entire being surrenders to her. “Anne!”

And it’s important, I think, to note that she’s not Daddy in this moment. Not Pony. She’s still Anne. She’s everything else, too, actually. The intricate ways that all our nicknames swirl around is too much for me to parse. She’s everything, all of it, my entire world. She’s Daddy and Pony and Anne and the center of my universe. 

But I can’t say all that, not right now, as I ease my eyes open to find her, hovering at the edge of the bed. She’s thrown off the strap, the tie is still loose around her neck, her shirt wrinkled and heaving with her chest. Poor thing, she’s almost vibrating.

“Come here.” I trace my foot up along her calf.

She hesitates, but I’m not really interested in waiting. I force myself upright - damn, when did my abs get so sore? I wrap my hands in the front of her shirt.

“How much do you care about this shirt?”

“Well, my wife got it for me,” she’s teasing me, and I decide I've had about enough of that. 

I rip her shirt open, the buttons skittering across the floor. Her tie is still no knotted loosely, hanging to one side, with her firm abs beneath. I place my palm possessively on her belly.

“I’ll buy you another.”

“Adney.” A plea. 

I’m nothing if not merciful.

Pulling her onto me, I fall back into the pillows once again. She’s bare below the waist, and I find her clit hard and ready for me. I circle it purposefully, tangling the fingers of my free hand into her hair. Our lips meet, and it’s sloppy, and it’s deep, and she breaks away to moan. God, is there a better sound?

“You feel so good, my love.” I whisper in her ear, strumming quickly. “You’re so ready. After fucking me? Taking me like an animal?” She cries out, her hips jerking as her climax crashes into her. The familiarity of her unraveling never fails to thrill me. “You’re so strong, Pony. You love it, don’t you?” She’s shuddering, and I can't stop touching her. I never want to give up this feeling. “Filling me like that. Fucking me. Being my Daddy.”

Of course, it’s that last word that draws the final wave from her. For a few moments we pant together, our slick chests heaving in unison. She’s buried in the crook of my neck still, her belly in the cradle of my hips. I stroke her hair, relishing the recovery. 

“I’m torn,” I say thoughtfully. “I can’t decide if I’m happy to leave tomorrow or not.”

“Why's that?” Her voice is muffled against my skin, and she’s still breathless, which swells my chest with pride.

“On the one hand, I’m looking forward to our bed. Which I miss terribly.” She mumbles appreciatively. “On the other, I don’t miss Marian being a very thin wall away.”

She’s shaking against me, then she’s pulling away, sitting up, laughter filling the room. Her quick fingers undo her tie. It snaps in the air as she pulls it off. She stands up, and she’s still laughing. I prop myself on my elbows, shaking my head as I watch her slip the ruined shirt from her shoulders. 

“What?” I ask, my eyes following her laughing, naked, incredibly fit body to the doorway of the bathroom.

“Can you imagine?” She pants. “Marian hearing us? You calling me ‘Daddy?’ Oh my God!” She laughs again. “Holy shit!”

“Pony!” I force myself to my feet, walking stiffly to the bathroom. That long ride this morning plus what we've just done? It's catching up with me. “We can _never_. Not where Marian can hear.”

“Is that a challenge, Miss Walker?” 

“Maybe.” I bite my lip. “Are you - uh - are you embarrassed?”

“What?”

“Was it too much?” I’m slipping into the insecurity I sometimes feel after we make love, especially after we _screw_ like we just did. God, did I just make a fool of myself? 

“No - hey,” she turns to me, the strap clattering in the sink. “Adney, listen.” Her hands are so warm as she holds mine. “I have never - I don’t want to say that, because of course I love every time we’re together - but the way that I felt? When you - oh, darling,” she searches my eyes, her knees bending so we’re on the same level, “I loved it. I love you. I love every single time that we are together, that I get to be the one to - to be that for you. Okay?”

“Okay,” I say softly, my fears instantly eased by her reassuring voice.

“Okay,” she purrs, nudging my hip with hers. “Now get in that bed before I have no choice but to ravage you again.”

I laugh as I fall into bed, slipping my nightshirt over my head. Best not to tempt my wife, I figure, with our naked bodies pressed together like that. And when she joins me, her firm body wedged underneath mine and her low voice filling the air, I’m certain, absolutely certain, no matter the size of the bed or the thickness of the walls, that there’s nowhere on earth better than right here. Anne Lister’s arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> So I'm feeling more than a little vulnerable about what we've introduce right here. I've had a few suggestions for it, and, uh, look, we're all on this journey together. I think it's kind of fun. If you don't? That's okay. I hear ya. 
> 
> Ann’s first person POV was a little tough. Lots of run-on sentences. She’s always overthinking, getting caught up, I don’t know. The way all these names (Anne, Pony, Miss Walker, Adney) mix together is interesting to me; how do the different pet names interact and layer and overlap? I dunno, it’s cool to me.
> 
> That said, today is my birthday! What? Yes. So I'm taking the next week off. I'm visiting a friend (we've both been quarantining since March), and I just won't have the time to devote to it. I'll be back to my old tricks on the 21st. I promise. 
> 
> Plus, like, whoa. It's been almost exactly 3 months. Of daily posts. 300,000 words over the three stories. What??? Yes! So Imma take a little break. Recharge and rehydrate ;)
> 
> You didn't get me anything for my birthday? I forgive you. Here's what you can send me in lieu of gifts:  
> a comment where you tell me 1. your favorite scene from the whole series (ego stroke) and 2. a suggestion (no promises!) of something you'd like to see these Ann(e)s get up to. 
> 
> Thank you, as always, for your support and generosity and encouragement. See you soon.


	27. Cinderella & Prince Charming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you miss me?  
> I missed you.  
> (rushing edits so please forgive)

“Anne, I’m serious,” she said, her voice tiny and crackly through the phone. 

Ann got terrible reception at school, which made this call all the more surprising. She’d left early this morning, rushing to get to the half-day she was so excited for. This Friday, less than 24 hours after they’d returned from Scotland, was the Halloween parade at Ann’s school. She’d pinky-promised to be back in time, and the kids were, apparently, anxiously awaiting her return. Anne’s half-term hadn’t coincided with Ann’s, but since Ann was only part-time, Mrs. Milton had agreed to let her miss the four days. 

The main condition being, of course, that she return for the Halloween parade.

On the Friday closest to Halloween, every year, the students were allowed to wear their costumes all day - well, all half-day - and then march about the grounds in their fancy dress at the very end of school. Ann had been gushing about it for weeks. Her students had voted on her as Cinderella, Mrs. Milton as Fairy Godmother, and Mr. Milton (an affable retired accountant) was going to come in as Prince Charming.

Anne had driven her Cinderella to school that morning, dropping her off with a kiss and a smile, her heart swelling at the sight of her billowy dress tottering toward the art room. She’d settled into various estate affairs while Ann was gone, grateful for the return to her own space and the chance to catch up since they’d been gone.

And then her phone rang.

Her breathless wife had explained that Mr. Milton was throwing up, would have to go home, his costume was right there in her hand. Anne had tutted in commiseration, sparing only the merest edge of her attention. 

The fact of it was that Anne had been seized by an uncharacteristic melancholy the moment they returned from Scotland. Shibden seemed so much quieter, her family so much duller, herself so much… less. Somehow. Anne was usually so confident and self-assured, but last night? She’d felt a sense of loss in their creaky stairs and cramped hallway and thin wall. Ann had been voracious in bed, begging for Anne over and over, to the point that Anne had felt, once again, inadequate. On her saying as much, Ann had only laughed and shook her head, falling asleep fully satisfied. Her wife? Not so much. 

All morning Anne had felt that same out-of-sorts feeling, and she was having trouble focusing on what Ann was saying. 

Until Ann had said _that_.

“It’ll fit you.”

“What?” Anne said, blinking rapidly as if that would take her back in time so she could hear what Ann was saying.  
“The costume - the shirt part! It’ll fit you. Bring your own trousers - the burgundy ones, they’re still in the dry cleaner bag - and some boots. Prince Charming wears boots, doesn’t he?”

“Ann, hold on. Just - wait. You want me - me, Anne Lister - to play Prince Charming?”

“Yes, oh my God, that’s what I’ve been saying! Stop bloody laughing! Anne, I’m serious.”

Pushing away from her desk, Anne wracked her brain. Technically, yes, she was free for the day. The men were working in the field; nothing expected for work until Monday. Sure, she _could_ go. 

But. 

But of course she wasn’t going to dress up as bloody Prince Charming for a tribe of tiny, dirty children. The Sutherland children had been surprisingly well-mannered, but Ann was always telling her about her students and their invasive questions and their grabbing hands. Wouldn’t they be terribly upset with a female Prince Charming? Anne didn’t even allow herself to acknowledge this way in which Ann was asking her to “play the man,” as Mariana so often had. She swallowed, unsure how to deny her wife.

“Adney, listen-”

“No, Anne, you listen. I’m asking you to help me. It’s that simple. It’ll be two hours at the most. Please, Anne, please please please.”

“Ann.” Her stomach twisted. “You’re - won’t the children notice I’m not a man?”

“No, uh - hold on.” Anne could hear her speaking to that Mrs. Milton. “No, it’s fine. We’ll tell them about Mr. Milton being sick, that you’re just filling in. It’ll be fine.”

“You don’t need to have a prince,” Anne sighed.

“We do!” Ann whined. “Mrs. Milton has to drive him home, so I’ll be alone. Plus the costume is new, and it’s here. It’s part of the whole thing and -” her voice cracked “the kids were so excited. Please, Anne.”

With a sigh, Anne relented. She raced downstairs and down the street, sneaking into the art room’s back door just after the first bell. Ann and Mrs. Milton had first period free, so they had time to prepare. 

“Oh, Anne, thank you!” Her wife gushed, draping her arms around her neck. She interspersed her words with kisses on the cheek: “thank you thank you thank you.”

“Where do I change?” Anne said stiffly, raising the trousers and boots in her hands. 

“Here, here, come here.” Ann tugged her arm excitedly, leading to the cramped, single-occupancy bathroom. The art room had special privileges due to its messy nature. “Oh, I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Hi there, Anne! We’re off, loves.” Mrs. Milton called as the door swung behind them.

“These are perfect,” Ann said, taking the burgundy slacks from her hand. “Put this on.”

She thrust a cellophane-wrapped package under Anne’s nose; the Prince’s military-style top. Shirt. Coat. Whatever it was, it was scratchy and too thin and not at all comfortable. Anne toed off her trainers, her body moving like a robot, struggling to process her annoyance, frustration, fear. Wouldn’t the kids laugh at her? Wouldn’t parents be upset? Surely the students would not be placated by some broad-shoulder woman passing for the male ideal. And what did this mean about Ann? Of course, Anne thrived in a husbandly role, but she wasn’t actually a man. It still stung. Mariana flashbacks raced through her mind as she pulled the boots up to her knee.

“Oh, Pony,” Ann said, her eyes wide, her arms smoothing down Anne’s cheap epaulets. “You look incredible. Let me tie your hair back.”

“Adney,” she said tentatively, closing her eyes as if this would make her stronger, help her to express these words. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Pony, it’s fine.”   
The snap of the hair tie cracked between them; Ann had pulled her hair back into a crisp bun. From the front, Anne seemed to have a very short, masculine haircut. The sight of herself in the mirror turned her stomach. 

“I’m not sure. Won’t parents be upset?”

“Do you think these kids are going to remember this at all? On Halloween? Not likely.”

“Then why don’t we skip it?” Anne was having flashbacks to Blackstone Edge, the sneering postboy mocking her, Mariana pleading with her to “pick a bloody side.” Anne was too masculine, not feminine enough, not masculine enough, never _enough_ of anything. 

“It’s part of the whole thing! And Mrs. Milton needs to go home, so I’ll be, like, totally alone. They’ll be so disappointed.”

“But-”

“Anne, what?” Her wife demanded, bordering on petulance. “I don’t think this is a lot to ask. It’s like two hours.”

Something snapped.

“Look at me, Ann!” She cried. “I’m this fucking stupid in-between that I’ve always been. I’m not a man! I’m not feminine in any real way. And those kids are going to know I’m not a man. It’s humiliating! And you! My wife - my - God, you? You’ve never been so ecstatic! You finally have what you want! Which is a _man_! Not me! It’s a joke! I look like a fucking joke, Ann!”

Ann’s jaw hung open, her eyes wide and flashing with anger. She felt tempted to reach out and comfort her wife, now near tears in her princess dress. But she didn’t, instead hovering near her, clenching her fists and twitching her jaw. Those round blue eyes stared up at her, confused and defenseless and upset. Ann took a step back.

“How can you think that?”

“It’s the truth.” She answered swiftly. “It’s how I feel.”

“Those aren’t the same!” Ann shot back, her eyes wide. “You can feel that way, but it’s not true at all!”

“It is. I can never do enough for you. Shibden is too small and too country and too - too little of everything that you want and deserve and - and I feel it rather acutely.” Anne gestured to the costume. “When you’ve dressed me as someone I’m not. Something I can’t be.”

Ann’s face went on a journey - confusion, processing, frustration, acceptance, back to frustration, straddling the border with acceptance.

“Pony!” She admonished, taking her hands and holding them to her own chest. “Are you insane? Have you - like, where have you been? I - you’re the only one for me. You’re every single thing I’ve ever, ever, ever dreamed of. And having you? It’s like - it’s more than I ever hoped. I mean,” she grinned mischievously, “I thought about it. I dreamed about it. I fantasized, rather a lot.” She quirked an eyebrow. “And the reality of having you is so much better. If you think you’re not enough for me, you are sincerely, genuinely, incredibly mistaken. You’re everything. All of it. My entire life and my future and my - God, Pony, you’re my whole world. Why don’t you know that?”

Anne shifted her feet, bouncing nervously and studying her wife’s face. She heard the words. She needed them to process through her brain, unwrap the thorns around her heart, unclench her jaw and soothe her stomach and -

The bell rang.

“They’re coming,” Ann said, eyes wide. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” Anne managed. “I’m always alright.”

“You’re not. We’ll talk about it more later, okay?” 

Anne nodded mutely. They bustled out, Ann plopping an officer’s hat on Anne’s head, cementing the costume. She showed her wear to stand, adjusted her arms in a stiff, regal pose, kissed her on the cheek. Through the door came a stream of tiny superheroes and princesses and witches and ninjas and obscure references Anne didn’t recognize. They greeted Ann with hugs and shouts, wrapping their tiny arms around her. 

She was good like this, Anne thought, with children. Ann looked natural, comfortable, alive. What _was_ it about children lately? Couldn’t the universe give her a break? It felt like a hundred tiny voices had been screaming at her for a week - “babies! babies! babies!”

“Are you Prince Charming?” A small boy was asking her, shaking Anne from her thoughts. 

“I think so,” she said conspiratorially.

“You don’t look like Prince Charming,” a little girl joined him. 

“Don’t I?” Anne’s voice felt small, weak.

“Prince Charming doesn’t wear boots!” The boy kicked her leg gently. “He has regular shoes.”

“Oh,” Anne laughed, “oh, right. Well sometimes a Prince needs to wear boots.”

Ann gathered the children together, and Anne sagged against the back wall, grateful that all those little eyes had turned away from her. The rest of the morning passed just like this - a few kids at the beginning of each class would question her, a few would compliment, and most would gravitate toward her wife. Who, by the way, looked like Cinderella come to life. It was easy to see how she had her students so enthralled. 

In the last section, a girl tugged on Ann’s skirt and pointed to Anne, across the room and half-listening to a group of children explain their costumes. She could barely hear their quiet conversation.

“Is that Prince Charming?”

“Yes,” she said with a smile.

“And do you love him?”

Ann caught her wife’s gaze and winked.

“I do. I love my Prince Charming very much.”

“Are you going to marry him?”

“Oh, yes,” Ann grinned, “absolutely.”

And then the children were gone, racing out to parade around in their fancy dress. They were still far apart, Anne and Ann, with the cavernous, paint-smelling room between them. Anne raised her eyebrows.

“Thank you,” her wife said simply, crossing the room. Anne shook her head. “Really, Pony,” she put her hands on Anne’s shoulders, “thank you.”

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s not.” Ann kissed her gently. “It was a lot. And I’m grateful. Let’s get out of here.”

In the car, Ann took her hand, kissed the knuckles, stared at her profile. Anne turned slightly as she pulled out of the parking lot.

“What?”

“I wonder why you have such a poor opinion of yourself.”  
Anne turned her head sharply, surprised at her wife’s using her own words against her.

“What?” She said incredulously.

“You have these insecurities, darling.” Ann’s slim fingers ran along the back of her neck. “And it’s so crazy to me. Like, you’re the strongest and most intelligent and most beautiful and handsome and desirable person I’ve ever met - and you still feel insecure. I wonder why you don’t trust me.”

“Of course I trust you.”

“Sure you do, with some things. But like this, today. You didn’t trust that I love you and every part of you, that I’m not like Mariana.” Anne opened her mouth to protest, but Ann cut her off. “Don’t deny it, I know it was your first thought. I don’t want you to be a man, Anne. I don’t wish you were anything other than who and how you are.”

Anne bit her lip, focusing on the road even as her head spun. She always thought of herself as confident and self-assured, or, at least, that was the image she tried to project. Ann always saw right through her. 

“Thank you, my love, for coming to help me today. The kids really enjoyed it. They kept telling me what a handsome Prince you were.”

The faintest smile tugged at the corner of Anne’s mouth.

“And you certainly are.” Ann ran her fingers down Anne’s arm, taking her hand again. “If I hadn’t been at work,” she hummed, “the things I would’ve done to you.”  
Anne was grinning widely now, shaking her head at her wife’s playful tone. 

“Don’t start something you can’t finish.”

“I think I can finish it,” Ann purred. “Go to Crow Nest.”

“What for?”

“Two things,” Ann toyed with her fingers. “First: I’m certain Marian will give you hell if she sees you like this.” Anne laughed and nodded. “And second: I’m going to need to fuck you while you’re still wearing it, and I’m afraid, Pony, it’ll be rather loud.”

Anne barked out a laugh, again surprised by her young wife. Would she ever be able to predict her? Would Ann ever cease to amaze?

“You’re a dirty girl, Miss Walker,” she laughed. “Incorrigible.”

“And you love it.”

“I do,” Anne laughed again, “I really really do.”

Pulling into the drive at Crow Nest, Anne felt that familiar stirring in her gut. She couldn’t deny that Ann’s poofy blue gown, her perfectly curled golden hair, and her sparkly plastic tiara were absolutely doing a number on her. She’d been too distracted by her own misgivings and the children to really appreciate it before.

“Hot damn,” she said, putting the Jeep in park. “You make an excellent princess.”

“Cinderella isn’t a princess,” Ann teased, leaning over the console so their noses almost touched.

“Isn’t she?”

“She is,” Ann purred, “once the handsome prince finds her and makes her his own.”

“Oh,” Anne said simply, waiting for the telltale chin tilt.

“I want to be sure you’re okay,” Ann said instead, leaning back against the car door. “With earlier. I’m, uh, I’m sorry I didn’t take more time to explain. I threw you in headfirst, and I just - I was worked up, and it didn’t occur to me until later. That you’d be upset.”

“Thank you,” Anne said softly. “I’m sorry for blowing up like that. I should’ve - I could do better about sharing my feelings instead just, uh, yelling.”

“Look at you,” Ann grinned, “you’re learning.”

“I’m trying.”

“I know you are.” Ann took her hand and kissed the back of it. “And I am too.”

“I know,” Anne nodded, “I know, I know.”

“Last thing: you are enough for me. You’re everything and more and almost too much. More than I deserve. Remember that, okay? Please.”

Swallowing, Anne nodded. She looked out at Crow Nest; even empty, it seemed more ornate and elegant than Shibden. She directed her words to the building, rather than her wife.

“Most of the time I can remember that. But sometimes… sometimes I look at this house or Elizabeth and her children or Father dripping soup down his shirt and - I feel like such an ass. A bumpkin, comparatively. Backwater Halifax and broken-down Shibden. I don’t dress right. I talk too much about things no one cares about. I’m overly interested in flowers and shrubs and Roman poetry.”

“Are you finished?”

Snapping her head to the side, Anne found her wife staring back. She looked blank, almost… bored?

“I guess,” Anne shrugged.

“Great. So you’re an idiot. We’ll start there. I’m also from ‘Backwater Halifax,’ so watch your mouth.” Anne smiled. “Shibden is lovely and gorgeous and stately. It’s also my home, so - again - watch your mouth. You don’t talk too much, and I love to hear your opinions on flowers and poetry and everything else. And! I chose most of your clothes so - for a third time - watch your mouth.”

Anne grinned, tilting her head back to look at the ceiling. Ann really could disarm her, couldn’t she? She knew just what to say. They complemented each other so well; Anne knew all of Ann’s insecurities, and vice versa. They were perfectly matched.

“Watch my mouth?” Anne asked, turning back to her wife.

“Uh-huh,” Ann leaned forward, her eyes focused on Anne’s lips.

“You watch it for me.”

Their lips crashed together. Anne wrapped her hands around her wife’s neck, needing her closer, deeper. Ann was tugging at her shirt, that ludicrous polyester costume, humming and mumbling in that way she did when they kissed. 

“Let’s go inside,” she husked, her pupils blown wide.   
They tumbled out of the car, laughing and pawing and kissing their way to the front door. Anne looked over both shoulders before pressing her Cinderella soundly into the solid wood. Dipping her head, she brought their lips together fiercely, keeping her eyes open and turning her head to ensure no one was around. Small hands raced up her back, hooked around her shoulders, dug in her pocket for the keys. Anne found it incredibly endearing that Ann’s eyes remained blissfully closed, a faint smile on her face as their lips met again and again. She took the keys from her, reaching behind her and fumbling with the locks. Finally, finally, they stumbled into the entryway, giggling and grabbing each other like teenagers. 

“Come on,” Anne tugged at her hand.

“I can’t wait,” Ann fiddled with her belt, the long costume top bunched up now so that she could reach it. “Sit down.”

With that, Anne found herself sputtering as her back hit the hardwood floor. Ann knelt above her, straddling one leg, her dress like a puffy blue cloud around her. She rolled her hips against Anne’s thigh; they both moaned.

“Oh, Pony,” Ann breathed, rolling her hips in a slow but demanding rhythm. “God, I want you so much.”

She managed to get under the neckline of Ann’s dress, tugging it down far enough to find her breasts. Anne dove in, covering them in kisses and tiny bites; Ann sighed, holding her head in place. 

“Pony,” she murmured happily. “I could hardly focus at school.” Anne hummed before taking her nipple between her teeth. “Oh, yes, Pony. I need you, baby. Fuck me.”

Anne was distracted from these deliciously dirty words, however, by the seemingly endless layers of tulle between her hands and her wife. She groaned, pulling at the fabric; Ann joined her, her eyes wild as they searched for the hem. It would’ve been funny, really, if Ann hadn’t needed her so much. If Anne didn’t feel that same desperation. If the chip on her shoulder about never satisfying Ann enough had disappeared. But that wasn’t the case, and she was about to rip the whole bloody thing off.

And then her fingertips met the warm skin of Ann’s thigh. She moved quickly, slipping below the fabric between her legs and finding the warm, wet core of her. Forcing herself to sit upright, she traced her fingers through Ann’s arousal, wrapping her free hand behind her neck and pulling their lips together. She closed her eyes this time, grounding herself in the press of Ann’s body, the arms clutching around her middle, the slick, upward slide as she entered her.

“Yes,” Ann hissed, panting and throwing her head back. She rolled her hips in unison with Anne’s strokes; it never failed to amaze Anne how good they were at this, how well their bodies fit together and how easily they fell into rhythm. “Yes, Pony, unh, right there.”

“Cinderella,” Anne purred in her ear. “Dirty girl.” Ann whined; Anne’s confidence grew as Ann’s release did. If there was anything that bolstered her ego, it was dirty talk. “Filthy.” She nipped at Ann’s neck. “Riding my hand?” She squeezed her ring finger in with the rest. “Naughty thoughts during work?” She pressed more firmly against Ann’s clit. “Shameless.”

“Anne!” She cried, her voice breathless and high and her wife’s very favorite sound. “Yes, fuck, yes, yes.”

Easing Ann through her orgasm was perhaps the greatest feeling on earth; she pressed smiling kisses to her neck and her cheek, holding her close to her chest, drawing every last drop from her. Ann sagged into her, kissed her sloppily, then sat back on her heels.

“Oh, Prince Charming,” she panted. “I love you.”

“Do you?” Anne smiled, reveling in the spent tone of her voice. 

“Of course,” Ann reached into her trousers. “You know this.” 

The angle was awkward, not quite right, and Anne gently pulled her wife’s hand away. Ann looked up at her in confusion.

“Let’s go upstairs.”

Ann Walker had never moved so fast.

They’d been trying to rent out Crow Nest for a month or so now, but no one had taken it yet. It worked out, luckily, that the house was empty most days; staff came in biweekly to clean and freshen. If they’d noticed the damp sheets Anne and Ann sometimes forgot to wash before they rushed back to Shibden, they didn’t mention it. 

“Now what?” Ann asked innocently, leaning against the closed door. 

“Well,” Anne grinned, spreading her legs far apart so that she sank down, her face coming level with Ann’s, “I was thinking we could read a book.” She put her hands on her wife’s waist. “Maybe watch something on the telly.” She kissed her neck. “Knit a sweater.”

“Pony!” Ann laughed, draping her arms around Anne’s neck and tilting her own to allow Anne’s wandering lips more access. “Come on.”

“I am,” Anne said into her skin. “Don’t rush me.”

“But Pony!” She laughed.

“I can never do enough for you,” Anne teased. Earlier she’d felt inadequate in a real way, but now? With Ann’s comforting words and urgent moans still ringing in her ears? She didn’t mind at all. Ann’s continual desire for her was exciting, arousing, reassuring. “You always want more.” She ratcheted up Ann’s ridiculous skirt. “Greedy.” She found the line of lace at her hip. “Hungry.”

“I am,” Ann breathed, as her wife descended to her knees, grasping at the blue poof that used to be her costume. Ann held the fabric up, her eyes wide as Anne slid her panties down her hips, kissed her way back to the apex of her thighs. “I’m hungry, Pony. I -” Anne‘s lips met her clit. “Yes, Pony! Fuck.”

Wrapping her hand around Ann’s leg, Anne lifted it onto her shoulder. Ann’s high-pitched moans filled the room, her hands dropping the dress over Anne’s head and shoulders. It was heaven: the slick, humid world beneath the skirt, the taste of Ann on her tongue as she teased her entrance, the filthy, wanton sounds passing between them. Ann’s legs were shaking, so she pushed her harder into the door, her hand gripping her slim hips as Ann trembled above her, bringing her over the edge with a shudder and a wordless cry.

And then there was quiet, where there once had been moans and whimpers and grunts and rustling of fabric. Anne whispered encouragingly against her wife’s belly, all those sweet nothings she loved to remind her of.

“You’re beautiful,” as she lowered her foot to the floor.

“I love you,” as she got to her feet.

“You’re incredible,” as she cupped Ann’s face, watching those blue eyes reappear.

“I want you so much,” as their lips gravitated toward each other. 

They were slower now, the edge of their desire sated. Anne still felt arousal coursing through her veins, but she wasn’t desperate. Not just now. She allowed her wife to back her slowly to the edge of the bed and push her onto it; she smiled as Ann knelt between her feet.

“These boots,” Ann said appreciatively. “You should wear them more often.”

“Oh yeah?” A jolt of electricity shot through her as Ann tugged her left boot off.

“Oh, yeah,” Ann kissed the inside of her knee, pulling the other boot from her. “Absolutely.”

“I’ll remember that,” Anne tried to joke, even as Ann’s nimble fingers found her still-open trouser front. 

“Will you?” Ann purred, climbing onto the bed and hovering over her. “Will you also remember that I love you?” Her hand slipped into Anne’s boxers. “That you’re enough for me?” She circled her clit. “That you should trust me?” Anne could only whimper - perhaps she _was_ desperate. “That I am your wife?”

“Adney,” was all she could manage, her voice strained and her throat choked by the depth of her desire. Ann was moving slowly, purposefully, pressing her lips to Anne’s jaw and neck. 

“What does it feel like?” Ann breathed in her ear. “To be fucked by Cinderella?” 

Pretty fucking good, Anne thought, but her lips would only form a garbled “unh.”

“I bet.” Ann grinned, speeding up her movements against Anne’s clit. “Kind of dirty. Forbidden.” Anne gripped her arm as she rocketed toward her climax. “Perfection.”

“Ann,” she gasped as she came, waves of pleasure rolling into her. “Ann, Ann, Ann.”

That’s all there was - the surrender of herself to this goddess, the princess, her wife. Ann, over and over again. Every hour. Every day. Her blonde hair surrounding Anne, her warm body pressing against her, her soft lips on her neck. 

“Oh, Pony,” Ann said as she pulled away, lying on her side next to Anne, “this short hair - it’s a very good look for you.”

“Is it?” Anne asked the ceiling, still catching her breath.

“Have you ever thought about cutting your hair?” Ann’s fingertips stroked the hair around her temple.

“I cut it off a long time ago. Mary hated it. I’ve thought about it since then, but, you know, I get, uh, a little testy about coming off as a man.”

“Sure.”

A beat of silence. Anne was still staring at the ceiling; Ann’s gaze felt warm on her skin, her tenderness as she touched her hair overwhelming. 

“I think you’d look hot.”

Anne laughed, rolling onto her side to face her wife.

“Do you?”

“Oh yeah,” Ann drawled, now running her hand down Anne’s chest, toward her waistband. “But I would miss having something to,” she grabbed the elastic of Anne’s shorts, “hold onto.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want that.”

“I think I could manage,” Ann slipped to the floor again, taking Anne’s trousers and boxers with her. “But we might have to practice.” She kissed the inside of Anne’s thigh. “You know, just to be sure.”

Anne groaned as those pink lips found her center again. Her earlier melancholy? Totally vanquished. Insecurities? Forgotten. This was Ann, she reminded herself, who looked at her like she’d hung the moon. Who desired her with such depth and affection and sincerity. Who kissed her with morning breath and adored her when she got dirty. Who appreciated the masculine side of her as much as the feminine side. Who’d never asked her to change.   
And so, as Ann’s tender lips and tongue sent her into the warm pool of release, Anne found herself fighting back tears. Tears of acceptance and appreciation and adoration; she was overwhelmed, plain and simple, by the magnitude of her feelings. 

“Pony?” Ann whispered, flopping onto the bed next to her. “What is it?”

“Oh, I just love you so much,” Anne said with a tearful smile.

“And I love you,” Ann’s warm hand wrapped around her middle, under that ridiculous costume top. “My Prince Charming.”

Anne brought their lips together gently, pulled back to study those blue eyes.

“What did I do to deserve you?” She breathed.

“You tried,” Ann said softly. “You gave me a chance, this relationship a chance. No one else ever did that. It was always a rush, get married and get the money. An arrangement, barely getting to know me. But you went out of your way to ask questions and listen and find out who I was. The fairytale version of you I had in my head? You came to life. Oh, and, Pony, it was so much better.”

Anne kissed her again, holding her fragile princess in her arms. How ridiculous they looked, she thought, Ann in her puffy and wrinkled dress, herself naked save for her socks and this costume shirt. It was all ridiculous, she figured, the idea that two people could love each other so much. For once, she didn’t care about being ridiculous. None of that mattered, she knew, compared to the feeling of Ann in her arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!! 
> 
> So I’m still getting back into everything, but please know I’ve read your lovely and kind and thoughtful comments. I cannot tell you how much they mean to me, and I promise, promise, promise I will respond. 
> 
> Anne’s insecurities based on “ she must have [had] some man or other - I can never satisfy her “11/25/32 I think it’s cool to take that from insecurity to teasing to appreciation. Like Little Ann is thirsty, which could intimidate or empower. I think Modern Day Ann could convince Pony it’s a good thing.
> 
> Anyway, thank you thank you thank you.


	28. Gomez & Morticia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Halloween this year is on a Saturday, so Chapter 27 was Friday, October 30. This is Saturday, October 31.

“And will you be helping us with the candy tonight?” Aunt Anne asked brightly.

“I think not,” Anne said resolutely, returning to her book.

“Don’t be so quick,” Ann said, nudging her with her knee. “I think we will be, Aunt.”

“Oh good,” Aunt Anne nodded. Seeing Anne’s dark look, she winked at her blonde-haired niece. “Good luck.”

“And what was that?” Anne asked as the thumping of Aunt’s cane faded away.

They were in their favorite spot - the couch in the parlor. Ann leaned back against her wife, safely cocooned in her arms and between her legs. Anne held her book near her wife’s hip; Ann’s forgotten sketchpad sat across her lap. For the past twenty minutes, she’d been toying with her wife’s long fingers, trying to distract her from her reading. She’d been fairly successful, and she was working up to this very subject. This Halloween night she was going to dress up and hand out candy for the first time in her adult life; she’d even gotten matching costumes for herself and Anne. Not the cheap polyester kind like she’d used at school yesterday, but actually clothes and a wig and makeup that would transform them. She honestly thought Anne would probably like it, if she could present it in the right way. 

“Well, Pony,” Ann said sweetly, “I was thinking it’d be nice to, you know, to be part of the festivities.”

“Adney,” her wife whined, putting her book down. “I don’t like Halloween.”

“You’ve never spent Halloween with me,” Ann turned, her back now against the sofa, her legs hanging to the floor. “I got you a costume.”

“As _what_?” Anne still had her pouting face on.

“Gomez Addams.”

Anne looked at her, brow furrowed, eyes narrowed, lips parted. 

“Ann.”

“Anne.”

“And why would I do that?”

“Well, because it’s fun, for starters. And the kids from the neighborhood will really like it; Marian says they’re all afraid of you.”

“They should be,” Anne said seriously. “I’m not kind to trespassers.”

“Right, well, they’re children,” Ann rolled her eyes. “Plus won’t Marian be shocked? That’s always fun. And - and, Pony, I think this costume is going to be,” Ann paused, biting her lip and putting the palm of her hand flat against her wife’s stomach, “very attractive.”

“I don’t know,” Anne said, tilting her head back. Ann swallowed dryly at the extension of her long neck. “We rather just had this talk, didn’t we?”

“Well, yes, okay, yes, but I’d already gotten the stuff. I didn’t think - I hadn’t realized. And then yesterday, I,” she fiddled with Anne’s fingers, “I thought we settled it.”

“We did,” Anne said genuinely, “but I - I guess I don’t know.”

“Don’t know what?”

“You know I'd do anything in the world for you, darling, but it’s not my favorite thing, dressing as a man. That line feels so thin for me, and I worry so much about - oh, I don’t know, about how I come off. I shouldn’t, really, but sometimes I do.”

“Okay,” Ann said softly, “what do you want to do for Halloween?”

“Sit just like this, with a whisky on the rocks and Mary Shelley. It’s my tradition. This year, however, I’ll have you in my arms.” She bopped Ann on the nose with her knuckle. “I can’t think of a better night.”

Ann could, in fact, think of a better night. She wouldn’t mind hearing Anne’s melodious voice read _Frankenstein_ to her, but she’d prefer it in bed, naked and pressed together, slick and sated from the passionate love they would undoubtedly make. Because, honestly, Ann knew her wife as Gomez Addams would be drool-worthy. Herself as Morticia? Anne would go nuts.

“Of course, baby,” she said easily, “will you at least try it on for me?”

“How about I see yours first?” Anne’s voice was low, sultry.

“I’ll show you mine, if you show me yours.”

Which is, of course, how Ann found herself under her wife at four o’clock in the afternoon, her Morticia Addams dress bunched up around her waist and Anne’s Gomez bow tie dangling in her face as she thrust into her. Ann took hold of both ends of the tie, pulling Anne into a deep kiss, even as she lifted her hips to meet her hand. 

Everything was going exactly to plan. 

Ann knew her wife would never be able to resist her in that form-fitting and low-cut dress. Anne had barely gotten into the trousers and shirt of her own costume before she crashed into Ann, carrying her to the bed and pouncing on her. Even in this half-Gomez state, Anne was intensely arousing. The pinstripe in the trousers, the crisp white shirt, the bow tie. Anne never wore a bow tie. 

“Fuck, Ann, I - I hate to be so crude,” Anne panted, drawing a smile from her wife. Why worry about vulgarity when she was literally knuckle-deep inside her? “But, seriously, your tits,” Anne pressed a kiss between her breasts, “holy fuck, seriously.”

Ann laughed breathlessly, arching her back as Anne continued to bury her face in Ann’s cleavage. That perfect warmth spread between her legs, into her thighs and her gut, until finally she was gasping and shaking with delight.

Had any plan ever worked better?

“Oh _God_ ,” Anne flopped onto her back next to her. “Good Lord, Adney.”

“Please,” Ann rolled over, snuggling into her side and dipping her hand to the button of her trousers, “call me Morticia.”

Anne’s throaty laugh transformed into a moan as Ann’s fingertips found her arousal. Ann pressed her lips to her wife’s neck, along her jaw, to the hollow of her throat, bracketed by that crisp white shirt. It was exhilarating, the power she held over Anne’s strong body - the sighs and grasping hands and arching back and mumbled pleas. She shifted to hover over her, teasing Anne, knowing how her chest looked in this dress. Anne groaned below her, wrapping her arms around her back and craning her neck to nose Ann’s breast from its cup, taking it in her mouth.

“Pony,” Ann breathed, “how do you - I mean, come on.” 

She giggled breathlessly - Anne’s laughter vibrated against her skin, her head falling backward as Ann strummed her clit more quickly.

“Adney,” Anne whimpered, wrapping her wife in her strong arms and pulling her close. “Oh, Adney, yes, baby, right there - oh fuck, baby, yes.”

And then she stretched taut, her hips freezing in midair, her lips moving wordlessly. Ann grinned, stroking her gently and sucking at her neck. Wasn’t it incredible? Ann often mused in this moment - wasn’t it amazing to draw out this kind of pleasure from the woman she loved?

“Morticia,” Anne sighed with a smile, “you know, I think I like this version of you.”

“Do you?” Ann slid to the floor and pulled the dress over her head; she studied her spent wife: open trousers and wrinkled shirt and mussed hair. Perfection. “How can you - honestly, Pony, how can you get me out of my top with just your teeth?”

“Practice,” Anne purred, pulling her back into bed; Ann giggled, relishing the feeling of Anne’s warm, clothed body below hers, in only her bra and panties. “Want to see me do it again?”

“No,” Ann laughed, kissing her quickly and standing. “We have to go downstairs.”

By the time dusk fell, they were back in their bedroom, pulling on their costumes and trying to tamp down those stirring feelings. Ann found it rather difficult, as Anne fumbled with the bow tie, consulting her phone and the mirror with a grimace. Ann came up behind her, in just her underwear, and turned her by the shoulders.

“Let me.”

“I can do it,” Anne pouted, even as her hands fell away.

“I want to do it,” Ann said; “hold that phone up.”

Rolling her eyes, Anne held the phone above her shoulder; it only took six tries for Ann to tie a knot that actually stayed.

“You’re a natural,” Anne laughed, pecking her lips. “I can’t decide if I want you to get dressed,” she put her hands on Ann’s bare waist, “or stay just like this.” She pressed her lips to the crook of Ann’s neck. “I can’t figure out which I think is hotter.”   
“Hush,” Ann breathed, even as she put her arms around Anne’s shoulders.

“Going to be hard,” Anne said against her skin, “waiting all evening.”

“I know.”

“Let’s skip it,” Anne’s hands drifted to cup her behind. “Stay up here.”

“No, Pony,” Ann twisted away. “You have to earn it.”

Anne groaned, leaning against the wall as Ann slipped into her dress. She tied back her hair, carefully, then settled the dark wig over her head; she’d considered dyeing her hair, but she thought the dark color would be too harsh for everyday life. Anne was practically salivating. 

“Adney.”

“Yes?” Ann sauntered to her, sliding her hands up Anne’s suit jacket and to her shoulders. Anne’s hands found her waist automatically.

“I’m going to explode.” Anne’s eyes kept moving between her face and cleavage. 

“I don’t think so.”

“It’s going to happen.” Anne pressed their bodies together. “My blood on your hands.”

“At the end of this night,” Ann whispered in her ear, “I doubt that’s the bodily fluid of yours that’ll be on my hands.”

Anne’s laugh caught her by surprise, so full-bodied and throaty. 

“Ann Walker,” she shook her head, “perhaps not your best line.”

Rolling her eyes, Ann smiled and tugged at her wife’s hair. 

“We better pull this back.”

With a groan, Anne released her and turned to face the mirror. Ann managed to wrestle those dark locks into a sort of French twist situation; with the help of dozens of bobby pins and a lot of swear words, she created the illusion of a short, masculine haircut. She grinned at her wife in the mirror.

“Excellent, Mr. Addams.”

“Are you sure?”

“Very dapper,” Ann kissed her cheek. “Just missing one thing.”

She turned Anne around to face her, then used an eyebrow pencil to draw a thin mustache on her upper lip. A thrill shot down her spine. It took her breath, how handsome Anne was. It always did, but tonight was something different. The doorbell rang. Anne quirked an eyebrow.

“I wish we had more time,” Ann whined.

“Your rules, Miss Walker,” Anne teased. “Be careful what you wish for,” she pecked her lips on her way out the door, “because you just might get it.”

And the rest of the night? Torture.

Snapshots:

Anne’s bum as she bent over, dropping candy bars into a small, pumpkin-shaped bag.

Marian complimenting her wig, Anne’s mustache, the candy selection. 

Laughing with Aunt Anne at the small girl who was absolutely terrified of Argus.

As it got later, the stream of cute kids turning into smirking teenagers, and Anne’s tearing them apart for taking advantage of a child’s holiday. She’d had to put her hand on her wife’s lower back to reel her back in.

And, finally, eating the last of the candy with Marian, watching Anne flop into an armchair and tug her tie loose.

“Are you tired?” Ann cooed.

“Not especially,” she purred, wrapping her hand around Ann’s waist and pulling her across her lap. 

“Good night.” Marian rolled her eyes as she climbed the stairs.

“Have you seen _The Addams Family_?” Ann asked, flicking open the button at her wife’s throat and running her finger along the hollow of her throat.

“A little.” Anne’s hand was squeezing her thigh, the other rubbing her back.

“Could you dip me?”

“Obviously.” Anne wrinkled her nose, as if the question were offensive.

Ann hopped up, and Anne was immediately on her, taking her in a formal, ballroom hold.

“How long has it been since we’ve waltzed?” Anne asked. 

Ann could hardly mask her surprise that her wife knew the movie so well. 

“Oh, Gomez,” Ann said softly, “hours.”

Anne grinned and kissed her, and then she was twisting Ann in her arms and bending to dip her low over her knee. Ann was sort of surprised at how natural it felt, how easily Anne held her in her strong arms. That handsome face hovered Ann’s, holding her gaze for a beat, then bringing their lips together. Anne pulled back, her eyes alight with desire, then pressed her lips to Ann’s cheek, her jaw, her ear. 

“I would die for you,” she husked. “I would kill for you. Either way, what bliss.”

What a line. What a delivery. Ann cupped her face and brought their lips together; Anne lifted her up, their lips still connected, and walked her toward the stairs. Ann stumbled when her heels hit the bottom step; they raced to the landing, Ann pulling her wife into her by the beltloops.

“Gomez,” she sighed, as Anne sucked at her neck. “Oh, my darling.”

They pressed together for a moment, an hour, eternity. Anne pushed the dark wig from her head, teasing out her tied-back hair. Ann shook her head, allowing the curls to fall over her shoulders; Anne tugged her up the stairs with urgency.

“That bloody dress,” Anne said as she closed the door. “I’m torn between taking my time and ripping it off you where you stand.”

“Gomez,” Ann whispered, wrapping her hands in Anne’s tie, “last night you were unhinged.” Anne’s brow furrowed. “You were like some desperate, howling demon.” Recognition washed over her face - the reference clicked. “You frightened me.” Ann pulled her closer. “Do it again.”

With a fiendish grin, Anne crashed their lips together, her hands fumbling across Ann’s back in search of the zipper that would free her. Ann knew the zipper was, in fact, under her left arm, but she didn’t care. A new idea had presented itself to her. She could hardly wear the thing again, so she broke their kiss to whisper in Anne’s ear.

“Rip it.”

Anne’s expression went from confusion to excitement to unparalleled desire. Back to confusion, for a flicker.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

And then her strong hands were dipping into the low v-neck of the dress, tearing it clean it two, leaving the middle of Ann’s lingerie-clad body exposed. With a shimmy of her shoulders, Ann sent the ruined fabric to the floor. Anne growled as she lifted her into her arms, pale legs wrapping around her waist as she pressed Ann into the door. 

“Ann Walker,” she breathed against her flushed clavicle, “has there ever been anyone hotter than you?”

Ann could only smile, tilting her head back against the cool wood, her lips parted and gentle sighs slipping from them as Anne’s mouth worked its way across her clavicle, her neck, her jaw, catching her lips in a bruising kiss. Clutching her tighter, Ann could only hope they never parted. Pivoting, Anne tossed her onto the bed, shucking her jacket then pouncing on her again.

“Pony,” she whispered. Anne unclasped her bra, took one nipple between her lips. “I want you so much, my love.”

A soft hum was her only response; Anne was paying homage to her breasts, her ribs, the smooth skin of her belly. She’d asked her to be rough, that throwaway line from the movie, but Anne was exceedingly gentle and patient. She almost always was. Ann arched into her, lifting her hips as Anne slid her panties down her legs. 

“I don’t know what to do with you,” Anne breathed as she kissed her way up Ann’s creamy calves. “You spend all week the picture of motherhood.” She dragged her tongue over Ann’s thighs. “Then you’re a fairytale princess.” She nipped at Ann’s hip bones. “Now you’re … you’re the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Pony.”

It was all she could manage. Anne’s brown head dipped between her legs, finding the aching core of her; her hands wrapped around Ann’s thighs, spreading her wide, holding her in place. Ann dug her fingers into her wife’s thick hair, ruining the meticulous updo, wrapping tendrils around her fingers. She couldn’t think, could barely speak, focusing solely on the impending relief building at her center. Anne was savoring her, taking her time to devour every piece of Ann, body and soul. Her own garbled pleas filled the room, though she did, really, try to be quiet. For Marian’s sake. She was almost over the edge when that decadent mouth pulled away.

“Anne,” she whined.

“You teased me all evening,” Anne husked, pressing her lips to Ann’s belly, “perhaps I should,” she kissed her ribs, “make you wait.”

“Anne!”

“It only seems fair.” Anne’s skilled mouth traveled between her breasts, over the tops of them, up to her neck. “I thought I might have to,” she nipped Ann’s jugular, “relieve myself before the night was over.”

“Anne.” It was a proper beg now.

“I waited for you, Morticia,” Anne’s hand found her center, “as I’m sure you, my darling, will wait for me.”

Those skilled fingers dipped between her folds; Ann could only moan and pull her wife closer. Anne teased her entrance, nipped at her earlobe, wrapped one strong arm under her body. Arching upward, Ann clung to her, unable to form more than a few breathy moans. Anne was so bloody good at this, wasn't she?

“That’s it, baby,” Anne husked, stroking inside her. That patience and tenderness were back; Ann was afraid she might cry. “You’re so beautiful. I love you so much.”

Of course it was this, these words, that would topple Ann over the edge. She came with a soft sigh, a release of an evening’s worth of built-up tension; Anne’s sweet words and gentle strokes coaxing her through. Opening her eyes, she found her wife above her, watching her in - was it amazement? Ann tilted her chin; their kiss was slow and sensual. 

“Anne Lister,” she purred, rolling her over, “how are you so handsome?”

“Am I?” Anne smirked.

“Like you didn’t know,” Ann straddled her thigh. “The effect you have on me. This tie. These trousers. The hair.”

Rolling her eyes, Anne put her hands on Ann’s thighs, rubbing them almost reflexively. Ann reached forward and wiped away the drawn-on mustache with her thumb.

“You could wear a mustache, too.”

“Could I?” Anne laughed.

“Oh yes,” Ann started to undo the buttons of her shirt, “very dashing.”

Anne hummed as her wife’s pale hands spread across her stomach then wrapped around her waist; Ann bent forward to press her lips to Anne’s sternum, a straight line to the waistband of her pants.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Ann whispered against her warm skin.

“Anything,” Anne breathed.

“These trousers,” Ann flicked them open, “they’re a size too small.” She stood and eased them down those lithe legs. “I wanted to be sure they were tight enough.”

Prepping herself on her elbows, Anne looked at her in disbelief, then laughed. A loud, deep, bellow of a laugh. Ann started to worry Marian would bang on the adjoining wall. 

“You’re kidding!”

“I knew what I wanted,” Ann replied with an impish shrug. 

“Incorrigible,” Anne reached for her, pulling her clumsily into bed on top of her. “Absolutely, devastatingly naughty.” She squeezed Ann’s ass, grinding their hips together. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Not a damn thing,” Ann said as she nosed her way down her wife’s strong neck, “because you love it when I’m naughty.”

“I do,” Anne sighed, arching her back into Ann’s touch “I really really do.”

Anne’s skin was slick to the touch, salty on her tongue. Reaching her black boxer-briefs, Ann took them between her teeth, trying to be as smooth as Anne had been that afternoon. Moderate success.

“Fuck,” Anne breathed as Ann settled on her belly between her spread legs. “Fuck, baby.”

Going down on Anne Lister always felt like a privilege. Tasting the very essence of her. Kissing and licking and sucking this intimate, secretive place. Anne was so specific about what she liked, what she would allow. Even from the first time she’d done this, on the kitchen island of all places, Ann knew it was a moment of surrender, an action of tremendous vulnerability. Especially for Anne Lister.

“Right there,” Anne sounded desperate, spurring her wife on. “Please, baby, more.”

Which, actually, surprised Ann, because she was currently working her way along Anne’s sensitive folds. Right there? Ann thought - it was unlike her wife to ask for more attention near her entrance. This was usually the Point of No Entry. Ann decided to take a risk; she dipped her tongue, just barely, into the core of her wife, the wet center of her. She moaned at the taste, the sensation, all of it, but she was prepared for Anne to direct her elsewhere.

Instead, strong hands held her fast, keeping her head exactly where it was.

“Pony?” She whispered.

“Yes,” Anne breathed. “Do it again.”

Heaven, in fact, Ann decided. That’s where she was. The feeling of being _inside_ her wife? Even in this small way? Heaven. Really and truly. 

She lapped at the arousal pouring from her, dragged her tongue along her folds, probed her entrance. Anne’s heavy breathing filled her ears; her scent filled her nose. Perhaps she would drown like this, Ann thought - echoing Gomez’s words: what bliss.

“I’m so close,” Anne whispered, breathless.

Ann managed to tear herself away, moving up to the hard bundle of Anne’s desire. She sucked her clit for a moment, then flicked it with her tongue. Anne’s powerful thighs clamped around her head, her fingers tightening on her scalp, her high, breathy moans filling the room. 

When she finally relaxed, Ann pulled away, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She surveyed her handiwork: a spent wife stretched before her, still wearing her sports bra, hair spread wildly below her, chest heaving and eyes sliding open. Ann bit her lip, waiting for her reaction. In truth, Ann knew her wife would never admonish her, would explain her boundaries again, slowly and kindly. But hadn’t Ann pushed her own boundaries under Anne’s careful touch? Hadn’t Anne just held her closer when she’d nudged this boundary? Surely she enjoyed it.

“Come here,” she husked, reaching one hand up for her.

Ann leaned down, snuggling into the comforting warmth of Anne’s chest, her head on the flat plane of her shoulder. For a moment, neither of them spoke; Ann figured her wife should broach the subject. Perhaps she didn’t want to talk about it. And then Anne clicked her tongue, pushed them both upright in bed, tugged off her sports bra, then settled back. Skin on skin - oh, it was so much better.

“That was different,” Anne said quietly.

“Good or bad?” Ann traced her finger along the sharp jug of Anne’s collarbone.

“Good,” Anne said thoughtfully, “surprisingly so.”

“We should’ve talked about it first,” Ann said with a pang of guilt.

“It’s okay,” Anne ran her hand up and down her arm. “I liked it. Let me think about it, a little, okay?”

“Okay.” Ann kissed the side of her neck.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Their chests rose and fell in unison. Their fingers traced meandering paths. Anne kissed the top of her head.

“We’re missing two things.”

“What?”

“Whisky and Mary Shelley.”

Ann chuckled, rolling her eyes as she sat up.

“I’ll be back, Morticia.” Anne pecked her lips and pulled on her robe.

“I’m surprised you like the movie that much.” Ann padded into the bathroom.

“Like it? The story of an offbeat and eccentric family in a spooky house?” Anne wrapped her arms around Ann’s waist, hugging her from behind. “A dark but doting husband who adores his wife? A self-assured, beautiful wife who accepts her husband’s darkness? Encourages it? Is aroused by it? I used to watch the reruns for hours. I mean, it was everything I ever hoped for.”

“Softie,” Ann teased, swaying against her. They were a handsome couple - Anne with her dark hair and dark robe, and herself with her light hair and pale skin. “Hopeless romantic.”

“Perhaps I am,” Anne whispered in her ear, “but it worked out. It’s all come true.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> WHERE is the Addams family AU we deserve? I mean... I’m v into it. Their outfits are more based on the movie, but the dip kiss is based on the show. If you want to swoon/my writing is unclear, google “Gomez and Morticia dip” and scroll around. Ugh, it’s a favorite of mine.
> 
> Anne’s boundaries are moving a little! I’ve gotten a lot of comments asking for something like that, and it took me a while to figure out how I wanted to start this process. Ann taking a risk like this feels right, to me; they’re so in sync with everything, I think she can try something like that, just a little, and wait for Pony to say “stop” or “go.” At first I was like, maybe it’s not okay for Ann to spring this on Anne, but I think that happens with couples. Like, when you’re so compatible and shag as much as they do, you can trust your partner to try something? Maybe? we’ll see. What do we think?
> 
> I absolutely am getting to your comments, but please know I appreciate them so fucking much. I can’t even tell you. I’ll respond tonight for sure. I was too impatient to wait and do those before I posted this.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	29. You & I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And THIS is why I should not be allowed access to my old musicals playlist.  
> Might help to look the songs up, and they are:  
> Andante, Andante - ABBA (but the Lily James version from Mamma Mia!)  
> Everybody Ought To Have a Maid - Stephen Sondheim (there’s a really good version from 2010 BBC Proms for Sondheim’s birthday that I used for reference)  
> We Go Together - David Tennant and Catherine Tate

Every November, several local families hosted a fundraiser called “Made in Halifax,” which was, essentially, an excuse for them to show off how much they could donate to some random, topical charity. The idea was to cut a big, fat check with money “Made in Halifax.” Anyone could attend, but it was older (richer) families like the Rawson that organized it. Ann couldn’t remember how long it had been around. What made “The Made” distinct was the event itself - it was a performance; certain (read: wealthy) local families were “challenged” every year - they could donate a minimum amount or they could perform. Families who performed tried to “beat” the minimum donation with their singing, dancing, guitar-playing, and plate-spinning. Ann always just donated and skipped it. One year, when she was fifteen, she’d gone with Elizabeth; Anne and Marian had done some kind of duet. Ann could barely remember the details - she’d been too focused on Anne’s black suit, the glint of her eyes, and the smirk on her lips. When Ann finally figured out how to pleasure herself, that memory was a frequent catalyst.

And now they were doing it again, Anne and Ann had each been “challenged.” Ann had forwarded the email to her accountant without thinking. No way in hell she was going to perform for that crowd; they were notoriously boisterous, drunken, and critical. Her wife, however, had started planning to perform. Ann suspected it was because Anne couldn’t afford the kind of large-scale donation she might want to make. Well, that and Anne’s never-ending need for attention. 

Which was how Ann found herself in a windowless room Anne had rented for rehearsal; the Rawsons had been challenged as well, so Anne brought Hinscliffe in for a Classics Department performance. University students and professors were often in the audience. She’d been droning on about it for days. Now, she was noodling on the piano, waiting for the boys to arrive while Ann killed time before her lunch in town with Catherine. 

“A week before a performance,” Anne said as her fingers moved across the keys. “It’s not looking good, Adney.”

“You’ll do great, darling.”

“Recognize this one?” Anne smiled, striking up a semi-familiar tune. Ann shook her head. “Dancing Queen! From your beloved ABBA.”

“They are _everyone’s_ beloved ABBA,” Ann laughed. “They’re a global treasure.”

“I guess.” Anne changed the melody, this one slower, more soulful. “How about this one? Same artist, to make it easier.”

Ann listened carefully, but she couldn’t figure it out. Anne’s husky crooning answered for her.

_“Take it easy with me, please  
Touch me gently, like a summer evening breeze.”_

Smiling, Ann sat down on the bench next to her, leaning into her side. Their voices mixed together. 

_“Take your time, make it slow  
Andante, andante, just let the feeling grow.”_

“Very good, Miss Walker.”

“Keep playing,” Ann whispered, slipping one hand under her jumper. Anne inhaled sharply, closing her eyes as she played. Ann sang and stroked Anne’s firm stomach. 

_“Make your fingers soft and light  
Let your body be the velvet of the night_”

Ann wasn’t confident in her own voice, so she stayed quiet and soft, nuzzling into her wife’s neck. She pressed a kiss to her jaw before continuing.

_“Touch my soul, you know how  
Andante, andante, go slowly with me now.”_

“Adney,” Anne breathed as she slipped lower. 

She leaned back an inch, allowing Ann into her boxers. Ann marveled that she could still play while she was so aroused. She kept that same melody, so Ann skipped the chorus, her fingers moving between Anne’s legs in time with the slow song. 

_“There’s a shimmer in your eyes  
Like the feeling of a thousand butterflies  
Please don’t talk, go on, play  
Andante, andante, and let me float away.” _

“Adney,” Anne whispered again. “We can’t—”

“Why not?” Ann stroked her clit a little faster. “You’re so close.”

“Time,” Anne managed. “No time.”

“Come on, Pony.” Ann sucked at the tendon in her neck. “You can wait like this all afternoon, or you can come for me, right now.”

And she did, of course. Ann grinned as her wife slumped into her, trembling and muttering; her hands knocked against the keys blindly, sending discordant notes into the air. Pulling her hand away, Ann kissed her cheek. 

“That’s my Pony.”

And just at that moment, the door swung open. Hinscliffe, already talking, setting down enormous bottles of water. Anne had told her he was incredibly serious about his voice, despite his seeming inability to carry a tune. Ann stood, squeezed her wife’s shoulder, and smiled at him.

“Hello, Dr. Hinscliffe. I’ll be out of your hair.”

The days until The Made passed quickly. Anne sang in the shower, practiced her little dance steps, ordered her tuxedo. Despite Ann’s repeated pleas, Anne refused to show it to her. 

“I can’t show up with your come all over it!” Anne had said in exasperation. “The dry cleaner won’t have it back in time, and I _know_ how you get when I wear a suit. No dice, Miss Walker.”

So now, somehow, it was the night of the event, and Ann was showing up with Catherine. Marian was performing with Thomas, which Ann was rather worried about since he’d gotten a cold earlier in the week. Her wife had bustled out in the late morning, mumbling incoherently about the dance routine, the lyrics, the additional rehearsal they needed. Poor Pony, Ann thought, she’s so bloody worried. 

The secret about Anne Lister, that only Ann and perhaps Aunt Anne really knew, was that she got stage fright. She loved teaching, holding court, and being the center of attention at a cocktail party. Anything with a proper audience? Anne got really worked up. Worked up and, honestly, kind of mean, just before the performance. Then, as soon as it started? She was gregarious and warm and charming. 

Which is why Ann had texted her “Break legs, Pony. I love you. Please be nice to the boys” just before the show started. The amphitheater was packed and loud, with all the drinking and teasing and predicting. It would be difficult to win this crowd over, Ann thought, but she hoped her wife was up to the task.The Classics Department was going first. 

“Holy shit,” Catherine said when Anne appeared with Jeremiah Rawson, both in tuxedos. “You have good taste.”

The crowd was hooting and hollering, cheering for Anne, who had become a favorite over the years. She was a local celebrity, whom, by now, had been accepted for her eccentricities and oddities; she was certainly always good for a laugh and a show. Watching her wife onstage, Ann couldn’t make a sound. Her wife wore a trim black tux, crisp white shirt and sharp black bow tie; the faintest hint of a light green cummerbund peeked out behind her buttoned jacket. Her green socks flashed under her stick-straight trousers, with the silk line down the side. Ann’s core clenched. She might not survive this.

“Settle down,” Anne called. She used no microphone, a point of personal pride for her. “Alright, you all! Let’s get on with it!” The crowd hooted once more, then died away. “Jerry and I want to thank you for coming to The Made this year. We’ve got a few surprise guests, but you’ve got to earn them, you louts!” 

There were shouts and laughs in response. Anne pointed to the large screen on the side of the stage where online donations would be tallied. The whole event was couched on running donations, which most people did through the website; anyone with cash or a check had to bring it forward so that its total could be added to the tally. This, of course, opened the philanthropist up to judgment for their amount, so the majority went online.

“If we can make ten grand with the first round, we’ll bring out the first guest. To earn the second? Twenty.” The minimum donation for a challenge was five thousand pounds, so Anne was intentionally showing off. Donations came quickly in the first few acts, then more haphazardly as the guests drank more. Ann had to admit it was a smart plan. “If you reprobates can’t do better than that, after we sing for our supper? Shame on you.”

There was laughter and cheering and Anne grinned magnanimously. Jeremiah was almost invisible next to her. The band hit a few notes.

“Now, listen,” Anne said, as if she were getting down to business, “Jerry and I work in The Classics Department, so we’re going to do a number from _A Funny Thing Happened On the Way to the Forum_.” Cheers. “Thank you, thank you, we know. And we decided on this one for The Made. Because it’s about maids. Well, the other kind of maid. You know, the ones that clean up your liquor bottles and caviar dishes?” Ribbing the guests for their wealth was common practice; they were eating it up. “Well, maids like me. I’m neat.” Laughter. Anne smiled lecherously. “I like maids. They’re neat.” She winked; Ann felt certain her heart had dropped into her clit. “Something no household should be without.”

The band swelled, a jazzy, bouncy sort of number that had everyone nodding along in rhythm. Anne had a lascivious sort of look on her face; she’d told Ann the song was heavy on innuendos, that the boys had given most of the punchlines to her. They’d said it was to avoid seeming predatory, but Ann suspected it was more about her wife’s charisma. Who could resist an Anne Lister pick-up line?

 _“Everybody ought to have a maid,”_ Anne started, Jeremiah echoing.

_“Everybody ought to have a working girl,  
Everybody ought to have a lurking girl,  
To putter around the house.”_

Anne and Jeremiah flounced around, turning to step in rhythm across the stage; Jeremiah led, Anne’s hand on his shoulder. Ann had seen her practice this extensively. The crowd ate it up. The screen already showed six thousand pounds. Ann couldn’t hear Jeremiah’s verse, too focused was she on the long line of Anne’s legs, the playful gleam in her eyes, the ease to her movements with the music.

_“Someone whom you hire when you’re short of help  
To offer you the sort of help  
You never get from a spouse.”_

Anne winked and nudged Jeremiah, making a borderline obscene gesture; the boisterous crowd laughed and cheered. This song was rather dirty, wasn’t it? Anne certainly played the rake well, and the audience seemed to know her in this role. It made Ann want her more somehow, this devilish and dry woman in the impeccable tux. This was the Anne she’d fallen in love with as a teenager - all performance and bravado and charm. It was intoxicating to see her again, this Anne. Ann actually knew her now - how she ate her oatmeal and what foods made her gassy and how breathless she got when she came. The merging of the fantasy and the reality? Ann worried she might faint.

And then there was applause. Had she missed the whole first part? Anne looked at the screen theatrically - £11,255. She and Jeremiah high-fived.

“Did you like that?” Anne smirked, raising her hands repeatedly to encourage the cheers. “We’ve got two more verses for you.”

Hinscliffe appeared, his bald scalp shining under the stage lights. Anne clapped him heartily on the back as the band began again. They started that train again, Anne in the front, her legs kicking in front of her, with those two poor saps trailing behind. It was a cute, kind of old school, Vaudeville dance. Easy enough for these nerdy professors to learn. Ann couldn’t stop smiling. 

_“Wouldn’t she be delightful  
living in?”_

Anne nudged Hinscliffe with an elbow.

 _“Giving out.”_

She winked again. The crowd lost it. Every ounce of moisture in Ann’s body was pooling between her legs. No wonder her throat was so dry.

The trio bounced on their feet, singing in harmony:

_“Everybody ought to have a maid.  
Daintily collecting bits of paper and strings,  
Appealing in her apron strings  
And graceful as a grouse.” _

Down the line they went, first Jeremiah: _“Pattering through the attic.”_

Anne: _“Chattering in the cellar.”_

Hinscliffe: _“Clattering in the kitchen.”_

Anne had scurried behind Hinscliffe, now she was at the end of the line, her hands smoothing down the lapels of her jacket: _“Flattering in the bedroom.”_

Roars of laughter so loud And couldn’t hear the final line, whatever they were singing with their arms stretched wide. Anne’s jacket was open now, exposing the flat plane of her stomach, swathed in Ann’s favorite color. Applause overwhelmed their voices, and all three turned to the screen. £22,005.

“Gluttons for punishment,” Anne called. “Can’t get enough?” Cheers. Her grin was so wide, so impossibly wide and joyful; Ann’s chest hurt from loving her so much. “Come on, Chris, face the music.”

And then Christopher Rawson appeared; his expensive tuxedo somehow rumpled, tight over his paunchy belly but sagging on the shoulders. Ann felt a surge of pride at how handsome her wife was. Handsome and, it seemed, incredibly smart. Christopher almost always donated a large amount, refusing to perform, but here he was, smiling ruefully and shaking his head. How had Anne convinced him?

The music started again, the four rocked on their heels, hands in their pockets, grinning widely. Christopher’s voice shook as he started:

_“Everybody ought to have a maid  
Someone who’s efficient and reliable,”_

His voice cracked, and Anne grabbed his shoulder. Her gravelly voice mixed with his:

_“Obedient and pliable  
And quieter than a mouse!”_

They each turned in place, a single finger to their lips, shushing the crowd. 

_“Oh, Oh,”_ their shoulders bounced _“wouldn’t she be so nimble  
Fiddling with a thimble  
Mending her gown  
“Oh, Oh”_ their shoulders bounced again, _“wouldn’t she be delightful”_

Christopher stepped forward: _“Cleaning up”_

Anne hovered next to him, hand on his shoulder; they bent forward, and Anne grinned that fiendish grin that made her wife insane. _“Leaning down.”_

With a swift kick, they were turning around, wrapping their arms around each other’s shoulders. 

_“Everybody ought to have a maid  
Someone who’ll be busy as a bumblebee  
And even if you grumble, be  
As grateful as a grouse.”_

They were a rather motley crew, but there was genuine affection between them. Even objectively, Anne was the most attractive, her hair pulled back in a low ponytail, her face flushed and gleaming with enjoyment. The Rawsons were surprisingly handsome like this, with their receding hairlines and slightly round bellies. Even Hinscliffe, with his usually sour face, looked like he was having fun. The tally approached 30,000 as they went into the last few lines. 

Christopher stepped forward: _“Wriggling in the anteroom.”_

Hinscliffe was next: _“Jiggling in the dining room.”_

Jeremiah’s kind face shone as he joined them: _“Giggling in the living room.”_

Anne Lister, to hoots and cheers, stomped forward, her arms stretched wide. Her grin was infectious and fiendish and proud as she joined the men: _“Wiggling in the other room.”_

The quartet joined together: 

_“Puttering all around, the house.”_

And even as they stumbled through a messy jazz square, holding out that final note, Ann was certain she’d never loved anything more. Ann’s head spun as the audience erupted into cheers and the professors bowed; she was proud and excited and aroused and, frankly, near tears. The effect of Anne performing was profound and intense - there was this public persona of a cynical bachelor that everyone knew well, masking the sensitive and sappy woman that held Ann so tightly as they slept. The professors trotted offstage to thunderous applause, and Ann pulled out her phone. 

“Meet me in the bathroom.” 

She couldn’t wait, stumbling over Catherine as she rushed to the aisle and out of the auditorium. Her long silver dress swished around her ankles, so she grabbed a fistful and hiked it up, rushing down to the bathroom. Single occupancy. Ann sagged against the door, panting from the exertion and the arousal. 

A knock echoed through the door. 

“It’s me.” 

Ann opened the door, tugging her wife inside and pushing her roughly against the cool tile of the wall. There was a soft grunt of surprise as their lips met; Anne took her waist, molding their bodies together. Hips rolled in unison, hearts raced in time, hands groping and tugging and roaming. 

“Pony,” Ann moaned as warm lips pressed to her neck, one hand slipping up the slit in her dress to her thigh. “I need you.” 

“I bet you do, Adney.” She bunched her dress up to gain access to the apex of her thighs. “I bet you got yourself all hot and bothered,” she slipped below Ann’s panties, “watching me up there.” Ann could only whimper and cling onto her shoulders as her warm fingers found her entrance. “Because I did,” Anne husked in her ear, “I was practically aching for you.” Ann cried out. “Knowing you were out there.” Anne nipped at her neck. “Wanting me.” Anne spun them around, pinning Ann against the door. “As much as I want you.” 

“Fuck,” Ann whined. “Harder, Pony.” 

It was all she could manage, Anne splitting her in two, curling and caressing and coaxing. She was so worked up already from watching Anne onstage; she was careening toward the edge at breakneck speed. Anne rutted into her, rough and fast and deep. 

“Anne,” she cried, seizing as her climax rushed through her. Soft lips pressed against her neck as she stilled. Opening her eyes, she found Anne’s fiendish grin staring back at her. That grin had dazzled a full theater, and now it was reserved for her. Little Ann Walker. She tilted her chin. Anne kissed her slowly and deeply, biting her lip as she pulled away. “Oh, Pony. I’m so proud of you. To be yours.” 

“Ann,” her wife started. 

Then there was a knock. 

Marian’s voice: 

“Anne?” 

The couple answered in unison: 

“Yes?”  
“What?” 

“Oh _God_ ,” Marian groaned. “Ew, you two are - Big Anne, will you come out here?” 

Rolling her eyes, Anne pecked her lips then stepped into the hall. Ann could hear the sisters bickering faintly, then nothing. She caught her breath, studied her reflection in the mirror, cleaned herself up. Catherine would be able to tell, she figured, but no one else. She made her way back to her seat, wondering perhaps if she _wanted_ people to know. It would be rather exciting, wouldn’t it? To have all these drunken fools realize that it was her, of all people, who tamed Anne Lister. The woman everyone wanted? She wanted _Ann_. 

Hovering in the aisle, at the back of the theater, Ann’s eyes adjusted to the darkness. Who was that onstage? Marian? And… and Anne? They stood next to each other, in front of standing microphones, teasing each other playfully in song; Ann recognized it from Marian’s practices all week. Thomas must not have shown. Anne found her in the crowd, swaying softly to the music and smiling at her. Not that mischievous grin from earlier. Not the devilish one from the bathroom. No, this was the gentle smile reserved for mornings in bed, Anne losing at backgammon, their silent conversations across the dinner table. This smile was only for her. 

_“There’s nothing can sever such a well-made endeavor as me,”_ Anne seemed to be singing directly to her. 

_“And me!”_ Marian nudged her. 

_“And you,”_ Anne put an arm over her sister’s shoulders. 

_“I guess it’s true - we’re like a yawn and a dream.”_

_“Like a cherry on cream!”_

_“Like the wind in a kite.”_

“Now you’ve got it alright! 

_“We’re like a parent and child!”_

Anne turned sharply to her sister, drawing a roar from the crowd. 

“Sorry, what?” 

Marian smiled sweetly and continued: 

_“We go together, me and you!”_

 _“That’s right we do!”_

And even though she was singing with Marian, and the song wasn’t about her, and there were hundreds of people in the room with them, Ann felt like her wife was speaking straight to her. They made eye contact, against all odds, in the dark theater. Ann wiped away a tear as the sisters crooned together. 

_“We go together - you and I!”_

And, later, when the performance was over, and Anne was hurrying her to the car, Mrs. Rawson told them as much. 

“Anne Lister!” She’d called, beckoning the couple to the open door of her car. “You’re a good-looking pair, but you’ve got to learn some self-control. Most people may not have noticed this,” she grabbed Anne’s shirt front, pulled her down, and pointed at the red stain on her collar, “but I certainly did. The next time you get on stage, try to make sure you haven’t got my niece’s lipstick on your neck.” 

They’d both chuckled sheepishly, made their excuses, and rushed to the Range Rover. The drive to Shibden was interminable, the pleasant conversation with Aunt Anne unending, the stairs seemingly infinite. Finally, finally, they found themselves in their own room. At last: just the two of them. 

“Good Lord, Adney,” Anne groaned, sliding her jacket from her shoulders. “I’m going to have to throw these shorts out.” 

“Why’s that?” Ann smiled, unhooking her wife’s cummerbund and dropping it to the floor before finding the button on her trousers. 

“I think you know,” she sighed as Ann’s knowing fingers found her wet center. “It was torture.” 

“I can’t believe how handsome you are,” Ann whispered in her ear, stroking her gently. “You can’t imagine how badly I want you. How proud I am to be yours.” 

Anne whimpered, this high-pitched, whiny sound that meant she was close. With a soft kiss to her neck, Ann sped up, strumming the hard nub of her desire until she was gasping and shaking in her arms. 

“We go together,” Ann sang softly, echoing Anne’s song with Marian. “I felt like that was about us.” 

“Yes, Adney,” Anne nodded frantically, finding the zipper at the back of her dress. “Yes, yes, come on.” 

Stepping out of her dress, Ann smiled at her wife fumbling over her tuxedo shirt. What was she so desperate for? Clicking her tongue, Ann covered her shaking hands, easing the buttons open and pushing the shirt from her broad shoulders. Together, they tugged off Anne’s bra; Ann hooked her fingers in the elastic of her boxers, sending them and her trousers to the floor. A naked Anne Lister was a special sight - why did she always hunch over like that? 

Oh. 

Anne was leaning down, sucking gently at Ann’s clavicle as she unclasped her bra. The urgency dissipated; Anne was infinitely tender and patient now. Her soft lips pressed along the curve of her breasts, along the flat stripe of her sternum, over the hard peaks of her nipples. Tossing her head back, Ann arched into her, tangling her fingers in Anne’s hair and holding her close. An idea was forming in her mind. She let her wife walk her back toward their bed, scrambling onto it with a giggle as Anne pulled off her panties. 

“I wonder,” Ann said softly; Anne sat on her heels between her spread legs. “I wonder if you’d let me try something.” 

“What?” Anne’s strong hands ran up her calves, hooking in the bends of her knees. 

Biting her lip, Ann reached forward to cup her wife’s breast. She’d never actually, properly done this. Anne didn’t like it, frequently kept her bra on when they had sex, never wanted to be womanized. But surely it felt good, Ann thought; it certainly felt good when Anne did it to her. For a moment, Anne sighed and pressed into her hand. Then she pulled away. 

“I’m sorry,” Ann said softly, reaching for her hand. Anne laid down next to her. “Forget it.” 

“No, no,” Anne shook her head, looking at the ceiling. “I - it’s so weird. It’s like my body responds before my mind can. In my mind, I don’t like it. But physically? I kind of do.” 

“We don’t have to -” 

“No, listen. I - I’ve spent a long time really, really worried about my appearance. How I look. How I come off. Do I seem too mannish? Being feminine always felt weird. Wrong, kind of. I always felt out of sorts in a dress and in makeup and things like that. So I - well, I figured that I had to, kind of, decide. You know, what I would allow. That fit with my persona. The one that I built with Mariana and Maria and every other faceless girl.” Ann willed herself not to stiffen at this mention of the past, though it was hard not to feel jealous. “Of course, it protected me as well. Can’t get hurt if you don’t give them everything. But after what happened last week...I’ve been wondering.” 

“Me too,” Ann whispered, rolling onto her side and pressing her lips to Anne’s shoulder. “I don’t want to push you.” 

“No, no,” Anne shook her head. “I’m just - be patient. Please.” 

“Andante, andante,” Ann sang softly, “go slowly with me now.” 

Anne laughed, shaking her head again, grinning widely. 

“Will you let me try?” Ann laid her palm flat on her wife’s stomach. “Just tell me to stop?” 

“Okay.” Anne nodded. “Yes.” 

Reaching out, Ann covered her wife’s breast with her hand. They both hissed as her palm pressed against Anne’s nipple. Honestly, Ann wasn’t really sure what to do. She knew she liked what Anne did to her, but she could hardly focus in those moments. Training her eyes on Anne’s face, she experimented with rolling the weight of it in her hand, brushing her nipple, grinding gently against it. Anne’s lips were parted, her breathing uneven, her back arching into Ann’s touch. Slinging one leg over her lap, Ann straddled her wife, covering both breasts now. Twin moans met in the air. 

“Oh, Pony,” she sighed. “You feel so good.” Anne’s hips rolled below her. “I want to know everything about you. Everything about your body and how it works and what feels good for you. I want to make you feel better than anyone else ever has.” Anne’s eyes were closed tight, as if she needed to concentrate to enjoy this moment; she reached up, her hands kneading Ann’s hips as they rolled together. “When I saw you, up there, tonight,” Ann kissed the swell of her breast, “I knew everyone wanted you. To be their friend,” she kissed the other, “or their lover.” She took one nipple in her mouth for just a moment. “But I knew you were mine.” 

“Adney,” came the strangled plea. 

Pulling away, Ann sat back on her wife’s firm thighs. Those dark eyes slipped open, Anne’s chest heaving as she smiled crookedly. Ann danced her fingers over her taut stomach, trying to read her mind. It was important to Anne to have a bit of control, and she’d already given up so much. She’d allowed Ann to drive for a while, but she wouldn’t be Anne Lister if she stayed on her back too long. 

“There she is,” Ann laughed as Anne rolled them over, pressing her knee up between Ann’s thighs. “I wondered,” Ann ran her hands up her strong arms, along the slopes of her shoulders, tangling in the hair at the back of her neck, “how long you would let me get away with that.” 

“With what?” Anne leaned down, kissing Ann’s neck and clavicle. 

“With being in charge,” Ann sighed, pulling her closer, their breasts brushing together. 

“You’re always in charge, Adney. Don’t you know that?” 

Ann smiled and rolled her eyes. The exchange of power and control in their relationship was one of the best parts, the most intoxicating and arousing and delightful. Anne sat back on her heels, her brow furrowed; Ann wondered if she’d said the wrong thing. Taking her hands, Ann searched her face, waiting for her to speak. 

“I just feel like I’m contradicting myself. If I’m this way, I should always be like that. That’s, like, how this works. I freaked out about Prince Charming, but I do identify with Gomez Addams. So what does that make me? For a while I was saying stone butch, but then, sometimes, I - I don’t know, I can’t figure out. What words to use and how to - to think of myself. I felt a certain way for a long time, and then I was a certain way with Mary and then - you know, always making myself so - like, protecting myself. And then you come along and - and I’m a different person. I’m all full of contradictions, and I don’t know how to -” 

“Hey, Pony.” Ann tugged on her fingers. “You don’t need a degree in gender theory to be a human being - you can just have things you like and don’t like. Not everything has to make sense. You can wear a suit every day and let me - uh - touch you like that. You can be strong and masculine and a woman. I’ve never wanted you to be anything else. All of those contradictions? They’re what make you who you are. Everybody has them, Pony. I’m supposed to be shy and agoraphobic and sheltered, but I lured you to a public bathroom tonight. I bought our strap after knowing you for less than a fortnight. It doesn’t all have to line up in a neat row. You don’t have to be Gomez or the prince or the professor - all those public versions of you. Because I’m not in love with them. I’m in love with you. That’s all that matters. Just you - just you and I.” 

Besides her stage fright, this was another secret tendency Anne had. One that only Ann and perhaps Aunt Anne knew. She cried pretty easily. Certain videos of animals, the sunrise over Shibden’s hills, when Ann did that one thing with her tongue - cue the waterworks. She was much more in touch with her emotions than anyone thought; she certainly wouldn’t let anyone know. Once, over the summer, she’d had to excuse herself from the dinner table when Aunt Anne told a story about a refugee who’d opened his own business and been successful enough to send his children to university. She’d returned, five minutes later, refusing to acknowledge her puffy eyes. 

So it was not quite so surprising to see Anne Lister in tears now. Naked, straddling her wife, big, fat tears rolling down her cheeks. Ann sat up, cupping her face and wiping her tears with her thumbs. She kissed Anne’s cheek, studying her handsome face and allowing her the space and time she needed. After a few long moments, Anne took her face in her large hands; they held each other like this for a beat, trading silent conversation with their eyes. It was so intimate that Ann worried she might cry too. And then Anne grinned. 

“Ann Walker,” she growled, “I love you so much. You don’t even know.” 

“I think I do.” 

“Let me show you.” 

“You show me all the time, Pony.” 

Anne scoffed. 

“It’s a line, Adney,” she drawled, rolling her eyes. Ann tilted her chin and they kissed tenderly, deeply, reigniting that flame. “Let me make love to you.” 

Their lips met slowly, sensually, as Anne leaned her back against the pillows. They were a single being, like this, moving together in perfect harmony. Anne’s hands on her chest, one running down to her waist, the other massaging her breast. Their legs brushing against each other. Slick bellies pressing together. Small, pale hands tugging at shoulders and biceps and dark hair. Tongues slipping and dancing and caressing. Was there anything more delectable than this? 

“Adney.” Anne pulled away, leaning back to push Ann’s leg back toward her chest, intertwine their hips, press their wet cores together. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” 

And she wanted to say something back, something equally lovely and poignant and beautiful, but she couldn’t. For now, Ann could only clutch at her wife’s broad back, trying not to drown in the depth of her brown eyes, even as her chest tightened with the connection between them. How was it possible? To love a person this much? To feel like a single soul spread between two bodies? 

“How are you so good at this?” Anne whispered in her ear, shifting to snake a hand between them. Ann laughed, unsure what she meant; there was little she could do in this moment than roll her hips and hold on. She was too overwhelmed for anything else. “At loving me,” Anne breathed, stroking her clit. “At understanding me. Knowing me.” 

“I love you, Pony,” Ann whispered, holding her closer, arching her back. “I need you. Please, baby.” 

“You’re always in charge, Adney,” Anne panted, moving faster. “You must know that by now. I’d do anything for you.” 

“Make me come,” Ann mumbled, barely aware of the words leaving her lips. “Please, right - fuck, Pony, make me - yes, yes, Pony, yes.” 

She was shaking, totally lost to the waves of pleasure crashing into her. Faintly, she was aware of Anne trembling with her - how in the hell Anne managed it, she would probably never know. All Ann did know, in that moment, was the intense joy she felt - the orgasm, Anne’s strong arms, the exquisite joining of their bodies. There was nothing and no one else - just the sound of their breath and the warmth between their bodies and the heady, humid air hanging around them. Nothing else in the world - just them. 

And as Anne disentangled herself, flopped on her back, and kissed Ann again, she started laughing. Rolling on her side, Ann looked at her in confusion; she watched her wife get her readers and their book, extending her arm so that Ann could nestle into her side. 

“What’s so funny?” Ann pinched her. 

“We just came, basically simultaneously, which I’ve been trying to do for years.” 

“Okay?” 

“And that’s, honestly,” Anne laughed again, “the least interesting thing about today.” 

“Impossible,” Ann giggled, squeezing her around the middle. “Is everything a competition with you?” 

“Yes,” Anne said haughtily. “And I like to be the best. We were the best act tonight. Raised the most money by far. And I had the most beautiful woman on my arm. And then we came home and made love, which, again, we excel at.” 

“Ridiculous,” Ann teased. 

“If there’s one competition I intend to win,” Anne husked, “it’s in loving you. No one could love another person more than I do you.” 

Ann couldn’t say anything, didn’t want to start the waterworks again, but she smiled into her chest. Anne Lister was many things. She changed all the time. She contained multitudes. One thing would never change, Ann knew, and that was her devotion to her wife. 

“You’re a right sap, Anne Lister.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Gosh, so, like a lot going on here.
> 
> This started as a silly idea when I drove back from my trip, and these songs came up. Anne Lister in a tuxedo, singing and lightly dancing? Couldn’t resist. This whole fundraiser was a clunky way to force that situation - not super realistic, I get it. Real Life Anne was fairly popular in Halifax (depending on whom you ask), and she did like to sing! I think a modern version would be a lovable eccentric, fairly well accepted for her oddity by now; she’s so charismatic that she could win just about anyone over.
> 
> And then, y’all come through with some amazing feedback on these last two chapters where Anne is working through her insecurities and gender presentation and boundaries. So then I felt like we needed a conclusion to that, and I was putting Anne in a suit again, so how can we process that? They’ve been role playing before, but now they’re just Anne & Ann. Ann still pushing those boundaries in a different way. I think, too, I wanted to explore this public/private tension - Anne in public is one way, but then what’s she like when Ann strips all that away?
> 
> Also I stand by Anne Lister being a huge crybaby. Like in the show she cries A LOT. Part of it is how good Suranne is, but she definitely has that side to her. 
> 
> So that’s why this chapter is so dang long. Maybe it’s too much? I don’t know.
> 
> Let me know! Thank you!


	30. Lesbian Octopus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am NOT handy. Please forgive anything that seems totally outlandish.

“Consider it an early Christmas gift,” she had whispered in Ann’s ear, holding her from behind as they looked at the blueprints for their new closet. “Will it suit?”

“Oh, Pony, yes.” Her wife was ecstatic, turning in her arms and kissing her soundly. “It’s going to be perfect.”

So, really, it had all started so well.

Until Anne came home, three weeks later, to find some husky handywoman wrapped around her wife. It was chilly, that mid-November afternoon, and Anne still had on her coat. Her scarf dangled from her hand as she stood, mouth agape, at the sight before her. Charlie, who’d come to renovate their closet, was showing Ann how to use a drill, pressed behind her, whispering in her ear, large hands covering Ann’s; they were leaning forward, pushing the drill into the wall. Charlie wore paint-stained jeans and a tight t-shirt; she was certainly stronger than Anne was. Ann, in her tweed trousers and Anne’s old sweatshirt - she was so delicate and small. Anne’s blood boiled - this Charlie, whom she’d hired because Ann said they should support female contractors - she was wrapped around her wife like some - some -

“Lesbian octopus!” Anne exclaimed.

Charlie backed away, her hands raised in surrender but a smug smile on her lips. Ann turned to her, smiling breathlessly. The glint of arousal shone in her eyes - was she attracted to this brute? Anne dropped her scarf, advancing on the contractor.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing.”

“Wrong.” Anne got in her face. 

Charlie’s muscles were larger, but Anne had the height. Not for the first time, Anne wished looks could kill.

“She was showing me how to use a drill, Pony.” Ann slipped her hand under the back of Anne’s jumper, the warmth of her skin seeping into Anne’s. “Nothing else.”

“Don’t come back,” Anne said as Charlie gathered her tools.

“I’m not finished,” Charlie said evenly.

“I’ll finish it.”

“Will you?” The contractor stepped closer. “It’s not a simple job.”

“I said what I said.” Anne set her jaw defiantly.

They watched her slip out of the room, and Ann turned to her wife. Anne was pretty certain she’d made a misstep, but she wasn’t about to back down. Not when her woman was at stake.

“Well, that was foolish,” Ann said, crossing her arms.

“You’re not going to explain yourself?” 

“What is there to explain?”

“Why my wife was macking on some short butch in my own house?”

“Pony,” Ann laughed, “macking? What does that mean?”

“You were practically grinding on her!”

“I absolutely was not.” Ann’s laughter had morphed into self-defense. 

“What do you call that!”

“Speaking to the contractor? Who’s remodeling the closet I share with the woman I consider my wife? Don’t be an idiot.”

“Don’t call me an idiot,” Anne said stiffly.

“Well, you’ve just fired our contractor when our closet isn’t half-done.”

“Because she was seducing you!”

“She wasn’t seducing me!” Ann matched her tone, which Anne only now realized was a yell. “We were having a conversation!”

“And she was all over you!”

“I’m not having this argument with you,” Ann said, “I’m going to the hut.”

“Fine!”

Ann slammed the door on her way out. Anne sank against the unfinished wall, her sweater catching on the rough wood. What the hell was Ann on about? How was _Anne_ in the wrong here? She stomped down the stairs, halfway to the door when Marian grabbed her arm.

“What exactly is wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” Anne twisted her arm away.

“You realize Little Ann just passed through here in tears.”

“Oh.” Anne crossed her arms, hovering in the doorway. She didn’t want to ask Marian for the details, but she did want to know them.

“What have you done?”

“Nothing.”

“Liar.”

“You don’t know bloody everything!” Anne shot back. “Keep out of it.”

“You better be going out to that shed,” Aunt Anne called from the living room; “fix this, Antsy!”

With a grunt, Anne stormed out the front door. It was unfair, she decided, patently unfair. She came home, having worked all day to provide a nice life _for them_ and - and what? And her wife was practically begging for that - that muscle-bound contractor to - to have her way with her! Anne couldn’t believe it; she pounded her way across the estate, her anger so large it seemed to spill out of her.

John Booth gave her a wide berth. Thomas barely said “hello.” Pickles and his men fell silent as she paced the fields.

Who the hell did this ‘Charlie’ think she was? Anne should’ve done it herself anyway. She’d gone soft, hadn’t she? She used to do estate improvements herself. Hiring out? She got what she deserved. No wonder Ann had been enthralled. Taken in. Seduced. She’d have to look elsewhere, wouldn’t she? Anne wasn’t enough for her. Too distracted and weak and - 

Fuck that.

Ann Walker belonged to her.

She raced to the chaumière, flinging the door open, red-faced and breathless. Ann was there, on the floor; tears stained her cheeks. Knowing force wasn’t the best path and unable to stop herself, Anne kept her distance but spoke firmly.

“You’re mine. Ann Walker. You’re mine, and you belong to me, and that’s final. Do you hear me?”

“Obviously,” Ann sniffed, “you don’t have to be so bloody loud.”

“I’m sorry,” Anne softened for a moment. Charlie’s grin flashed in her mind. She squared her shoulders. “But it’s the truth. I don’t want to see another woman - to see anyone touching you. No one but me.”

“Obviously,” Ann said again. “You’ve made that much clear.”

“Well?” Anne barked. “What do you have to say?”

Ann picked at her nails, chewed on her lip, stared at the floor. Why wasn’t she saying anything?

“I guess I just thought you might’ve,” Anne’s voice cracked, “said something to her. When she got that close.”

“Why’s that?” Ann was still looking down.

“Because you’re mine, Ann!” When had these tears formed? “Because you’re going to be my wife! Did she even know we’re engaged?”

“I did tell her,” Ann said evenly. “Not that I needed to. With your picture everywhere;” she finally looked up, her blue eyes flashing with anger. “Your suits on the rack. Your ring on my finger. I’m wearing your fucking sweatshirt, Anne!”

Well, she had no response to that. The error of her ways began to reveal itself.

“You’re so bloody insecure sometimes.” Ann stood unsteadily. “Jealous and possessive. Sure, she was charming and cute in a way. She’s not you.” Ann’s words indicted her. “Obviously.” 

She’d repeated this word three times, but it was only now that anything became obvious to Anne. Ann was allowed to joke and flirt with their contractor - it wasn’t illegal. She knew she belonged to Anne. Charlie knew, but still tried it. This sort of thing was bound to happen, with a woman as beautiful and kind as Ann. It didn’t matter, so long as Ann remembered to whom she belonged. And she did. Obviously. Anne should’ve trusted her wife, she realized. She sank to her knees.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, eyes downcast. “I overreacted.”

“Yes, you fucking did,” Ann said with a smile. “You big dummy.”

And then her snow-white trainers appeared in front of Anne, who wrapped her arms around her knees. Remorse for her harsh words washed over her; she suddenly felt more wretched than perhaps she ever had before. She hadn’t spoken kindly to her wife, had she? Not at all.

“I’m sorry,” she said into the scratchy fabric of her trousers. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“I forgive you.” Ann scratched the back of her head. “Because as much as I belong to you? You belong to me.”

“Yes, Adney.” Anne hugged her tighter. “Of course.”

Anne pressed her lips to the soft fabric covering her wife’s belly, her hands coming up to slip underneath, but Ann stepped away.

“You need to call Charlie back.”

“I won’t.”

“Nothing’s going to happen. We just established that.”

“Only because you’re so loyal.” Anne got to her feet. “She was trying to take advantage of you.”

“Pony,” Ann rolled her eyes.

“I won’t have her back in my house.”

“You’re going to do all the work yourself?”

“Sure.”

“Oh, poor Pony,” Ann clicked her tongue, “you can be such a fool.”

“What?”

“It’s very simple - if you’re not going to call Charlie back, then I’m not having sex with you until the closet is finished.”

Anne stared at her, dumbstruck.

“You’ve been putting off this renovation for months. If you don’t have some incentive, I’m afraid you won’t get it done.”

And so began the longest week of Anne Lister’s life.

That was Thursday, out there in the chaumière. She spent the rest of the evening studying Charlie’s blueprints, gathering tools, making a plan. How difficult could it be? Certainly it would be easier than resisting her wife, who seemed to be enjoying taunting her. 

“Must you really?” She’d whined when Ann finally emerged from the bathroom.

“Must I what?” Ann slipped into bed with a smile. 

“Wear that - that - whatever you call that!”

“It’s a nightgown, Pony,” Ann said softly, curling into her side. 

“It barely covers your bum.” Anne shifted her hips uncomfortably. Why hadn’t she stayed in bed later this morning? If she’d known it would be the last time…

“More comfortable,” Ann yawned. “Does it bother you?”

“Yes!” Anne cried. “I can’t believe you’re denying me.”

“I can’t believe you fired our contractor because of your pride.”

No argument for that. Scowling, Anne settled into their book. It wasn’t easy, falling asleep all keyed up like that. Even in sleep, Ann was the most beautiful woman on the planet. Her lips parted, her hair ticking Anne’s shoulder, her hands curled under her chin, her legs - no, Anne told herself, better not. 

It was no better by the time they woke up. Ann’s pert behind pushing into Anne’s hips, her belly rising and falling slowly under Anne’s hand, her warm legs sliding against Anne’s - if Anne leaned forward, just a little, she’d be able to see down her - 

“Good morning,” Ann smiled, turning in her arms and tilting her chin. 

Who knew two kisses could be so dangerous?

The first - innocent, simple, a warm-up. The second - Ann teased her lips open, slid her tongue inside, tugged gently at Anne’s hair. Breaking away, Anne couldn’t believe how smug her wife looked. 

“You’re doing it on purpose!”

“Doing what?” Ann toyed the hem of Anne’s shirt.

“Tempting me.”

“Call Charlie,” Ann breathed, one hand on her firm stomach. “And we can stay like this all day.”

She nearly relented. Until Charlie’s smirking face leered in her mind. She couldn’t - it would be humiliating. No, that lech would not be returning to her home.

“Absolutely not,” she said, and Ann’s hand retracted. “I won’t have some so disrespectful in my house. I’ll do the work.”

“I hope so, Pony,” Ann turned away, snuggling back into the pillows. “I already miss you.”

So that second day - Friday - Anne had rushed out of class as soon as it was over. Broken the speed limit. Raced up the stairs to the closet. Started on the walls - drywall and screws and lots and lots of cursing. It was turning out to be much more difficult than Anne had anticipated. They had planned on built-in racks and drawers and shelves, all of which seemed so lovely on paper. In practice? Anne thought she might lose her head. 

A quick dinner, and then she returned to her tasks. How could it take so long? She was getting the hang of it, starting to enjoy the way the room was transforming, but the time passed so quickly. She’d work for a while, accomplish one or perhaps two tasks, and then find two hours had gone by. She was still hanging a section of drywall when Ann’s small arms wrapped around her waist.

“Come to bed, Pony.”

“Let me finish this.”

“It’s nearly midnight, my love.” Ann pressed her lips to the side of her neck. “I’ll help you tomorrow.”

It was no easier to sleep tonight, with Ann’s lithe body wrapped around her. At least she wasn’t wearing that impossible nightgown again. For a few long moments, Anne watched her breathe, after she’d fallen asleep; there was no use denying she was whipped. Ann Walker controlled her. She wasn’t even properly mad about being frozen out like this; she was frustrated, sure, but she felt more like a sad puppy. When had she gotten so soft?

Being with Ann wasn’t just sex. The sex was incredible, that went without saying. But it was secondary to Ann’s smile, her twinkling laughter, the meandering stories she told about her students. All of Anne’s past relationships were predicated on sex, on the cataclysmic meeting of their bodies and the rush of pleasure she could offer her partners. Mariana was the closest she’d had to a real companion, but, even then, their personalities didn’t mesh. Mariana hated the way Anne dressed; Ann encouraged it. Mariana was never interested in long walks through the garden; Ann begged for them. Mariana hated to dawdle in bed; Ann latched onto her like a marsupial, pleading with her for just a few minutes more. Mariana - well, the list was endless. Tib was a real companion, but they didn’t have the sexual chemistry - better as friends, then. With Ann, it was everything - her best friend, her favorite person to have sex with, the most profound painter, the most frustrating opponent, the funniest and kindest and most generous human being she knew. 

Saturday morning, these warm feelings were replaced by a deep, yearning ache. It had been forty-eight hours since they’d last had sex. Anne was willing to wait for her wife, but she wasn’t sure her body was on the same page. She woke early, just before sunrise, and walked the estate in the crisp morning air, hoping it would curtail some of her desire. She’d actually pretty well succeeded, until she’d gotten back to their room. 

Ann Walker, curled on her side, her head on Anne’s pillow, was clutching Anne’s discarded pajama top in her arms; her nose was pressed deep into the flannel. It all rushed back - her need for this tiny, beautiful, infuriating woman. 

Rushing into the bathroom, Anne turned on the shower urgently. Ann hadn’t said anything about touching herself had she? Stripping her clothes off, Anne considered a cold shower. Slake off the worst of it, let this desire drive her to finish the closet. But she was weak. She couldn’t stop her right hand from adjusting the temperature or from drifting between her legs. Wetness greeted her - how long had it been since she’d touched herself? Months, easily. Closing her eyes, she let the warm water run down her body as she conjured her wife in her mind. That Morticia Addams dress. The time she’d stripped in Scotland. The first time she’d ever taken Anne’s cock. It was good - fuck, it was so good - this wouldn’t take long - she was close, so close, but she - fuck. She sagged against the wall.

She couldn’t do it. 

Couldn’t finish. 

Had this ever happened?

She was getting that helpless, rubbed-raw, give-it-up-already feeling. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been unable to finish. Especially by her own hand. What had Ann done to her?

Anne rushed through her shower, sauntering into the bedroom in her underwear, finding her wife sleepily swiping through her phone. Ann gave her a suspicious look, beckoning her over and taking her hand. She sniffed it.

“Have you been naughty, Dr. Lister?”

“Certainly not,” Anne said stiffly. She’d scrubbed her hands thoroughly; was Ann calling her bluff?

“I think you were,” Ann said with a mischievous smile. “I may have to add a day on to your punishment for that.”

“What!”

“I take my ultimatums very seriously.”

“Adney!” Her wife was totally serious. With a sigh, Anne sat down on the bed next to her. “I couldn’t finish.”

“What?” Ann drawled, clearly intrigued. 

“First of all, you never expressly said I couldn’t.” Ann clicked her tongue. “And I came up here and you were all curled up and holding my shirt - really, Adney,” Anne laughed, “you’ve got to cut me some slack. Even asleep, you make me totally crazy. So I went in the shower, and - well, I couldn’t.” 

Her face burned with this admission, but Ann just kissed her cheek.

“I think it’s very sweet.”

“Didn’t feel sweet to me,” Anne grumbled.

“Oh, you big baby.” Ann stood and stretched; Anne had to look away as her sleeping shirt rode up her thighs. It was like being a teenager again. “Call Charlie and then ravish me.”

“No,” Anne said firmly. “I won’t have her back.”

“Your loss, my love.” Ann put her hands on Anne’s shoulders, standing between her spread legs. “How can I help you today?”

It was actually kind of nice, finishing the walls and painting with her wife. Charlie had torn down the old paneling and done most of the drywall, so all they really had to do today was paint and start with the cabinets and shelves. Ann played song after song, none of them recognizable to Anne. She danced around the room, dabbed painted on Anne’s nose, spanked her with a wet hand. 

“Adney!” Anne laughed, turning to watch her wife giggle and retreat across the room. “I’ll get you for that.”

“Come on, then” Ann dared, dropping her roller in the tray.

Her hair pulled back, in a white t-shirt and tiny shorts, Ann was breathtaking; Anne advanced on her, pausing only to dip her hands into her own paint tray, coating the palms in the light purple Ann had selected. 

“Pony,” Ann warned, backing away; her bare feet sticking to the plastic tarp protecting the floor. “Think about what you’re doing.”

“I am,” Anne purred, closing the distance between them in a few long strides. “After all, Miss Walker, you started this.”

With that, she brought her hands to her wife’s chest, leaving two clear palm prints on her breasts. Shrieking with laughter, Ann grabbed her by the wrists, pulling them above her head. Anne allowed it, leaning forward to catch Ann’s lips. Ann met her hungrily, more urgently than she had since that day with Charlie. Perhaps Ann was missing her just as much. Rolling her hips forward, Anne pressed her body into Ann’s by instinct. She pulled back when she felt a cold wetness on her chest. 

“Fuck,” she groaned dejectedly, stepping back to see two large splotches on her own shirt. “Damn it.”

“That’s what you get,” Ann laughed. 

She was so beautiful like this, carefree and casual and joyful. Anne could feel her chest swelling, loving her this much. The first coat of paint was still drying - they had time.

“Is it?” Anne grinned, hoisting Ann up with her still-wet hands. By any luck, Anne would leave two handprints on her rear end as well. Ann’s legs wrapped around her waist, and Anne carried her to the (dry) wall of their bedroom. “I ought to teach you a lesson.”

“What lesson is that?” Ann teased, pressing her lips against Anne’s neck.

“Oh, who can remember?” Anne laughed. “Just kiss me, Adney, before I lose my mind.”

With a pleased smirk, Ann tilted her chin. Their lips met slowly, languidly, perhaps because they had the luxury of time, knowing they couldn’t go further than deep kisses and soft whimpers and pressed-together chests. Even if Ann acquiesced, they’d both need to wash their hands before anything else happened. No, for now, Anne enjoyed the simple pleasure of kissing her wife with no ulterior motive. 

Even though it was frustrating as hell. 

“Do you know,” Anne pulled away, whispering into Ann’s flushed neck, “this is the longest we’ve ever gone without having sex?”

“No way,” Ann breathed. “What about - uh, last month?”

“Nope,” Anne set her down, and they padded into the closet. “That was two days, and we, my love, are on the third.”

Anne flopped onto the ground, tired from painting and holding Ann in the air; Ann sat next to her, and they snuggled on the plastic tarp. The paint had dried on their clothes, and Anne stroked her wife’s back as she studied the ceiling. Should they do something about it? While they were doing everything else?

“In July,” Ann said suddenly, “I had that really heavy period. That was, like, five days.” 

“Right, but you went down on me halfway through.”

“Did I really?” Ann laughed.

“You insisted,” Anne teased. “A bit of a sex fiend, my wife.”

“I can’t resist you,” Ann said sincerely. 

Then why are we doing this? Anne thought. She didn’t say it, knowing full-well what answer she’d get back. Ann could be so damned stubborn sometimes. They had that in common. 

“Lunch?” Aunt Anne’s voice called, her cane steadily approaching. Ann scrambled to her feet, giving her wife a clear view of her handiwork. Her round behind? Covered in two large, purple handprints. Aunt Anne appeared in the doorway, her eyes widening as she took in Ann’s shirt. “Oh dear.”

“Better change, Adney,” Anne laughed, rising to her feet. “How does it look, Aunt?” 

Ann scurried past them, digging through the drawers of her dresser in the bedroom. Aunt surveyed their progress, her back to Ann’s changing. 

“It’s a nice color.”

“All Ann,” Anne said deferentially.

“I figured,” Aunt Anne chuckled. “You won’t be joining us?”

“Think I’ll get started on the second coat,” Anne stretched her hands above her head. “Hopefully we can do some of the shelving this afternoon.”

“I’m just going to wash my hands,” Ann said, slipping past them; “I’ll be right down.”

“Hands to yourself, Antsy,” Aunt teased, making her way out the door. “Little Ann only has so many shirts.”

“You’re a beast,” Ann pouted when Anne leaned in the bathroom doorway.

“I’ll say it again, my love: you started it.”

“You always go too far.” Ann kissed her cheek. “Can I bring you anything?”’

“How about a beer?” Anne picked up her roller.

“It’s noon.”

“Well, by the time you finish eating…” Anne shrugged, “could be fun.”

“I’ll take that into consideration.”

Anne spent the next hour working her way around the room with broad strokes of her roller. The whole thing was coming together quite well. If they stayed focused, they could finish this tomorrow night. What a perfect Sunday evening, Anne thought - finally, finally, touching her wife again. 

“I have brought you one beer and several snacks. Aren’t you going to be operating power tools later?”

“I suppose,” Anne sighed dramatically, taking the cold can; “thank you, darling.”

“What can I do?”

“Will you go over the trim?” Anne gestured to the discarded brushes. “I’ll finish this and then we can split it.”

Ann complied, and they worked in silence for a minute. The cold beer was just the ticket, particularly mixed with the crisps Ann had brought. Anne started to feel loose as she finished the last large patch and picked up a brush. 

“Tib and I painted her bedroom once.”

“Oh yeah?” 

“Do you know what she told me?”

“What?”

“That whoever does the trim,” Anne grinned, “is the bottom.”

“What?” Ann cried, turning to face her. 

“That’s what she said,” Anne shrugged innocently. “The top, the alpha, they - you know, they do the roller.”

“I am not the bottom,” Ann pouted.

“Adney,” Anne chuckled, “yeah - I mean, I love you, my darling, please, but - you absolutely are.”

“I’m on top sometimes!”

“Yes,” Anne said indulgently, “of course you are.”

“Just if I prefer -”

“Right, right.” Anne was struggling to repress her laughter. 

“We take turns,” Ann said defensively.

“Of course.”

“I do like it.”

“Some might say you love it,” Anne teased.

“I don’t _love_ it, I mean, I -”

“Oh my God!” Anne cried dramatically. “We have to get this finished!”

“What?” Ann asked, alarmed, “Why?” 

“You don’t even remember how much you love it!” Anne exclaimed in mock despair. “It’s been too long! Oh _God_.”

“Shut up!” Ann laughed. “You’re impossible.”

“I’ve heard that one before,” Anne laughed. 

Soon enough, the trim was finished, and they were left waiting for it to dry. After washing their hands, they trotted downstairs to start bringing up cabinets and shelves. Ann did try, the poor thing. Anne bit her lip to avoid laughing at her wife’s attempts at navigating Shibden’s narrow halls. When they’d brought the last of it, Ann flopped onto the plastic-covered floor with a sigh.

“Good heavens, Pony, I might never forgive you.”

“For what?” Anne passed her a cold bottle of water, hovering over her with a smile. 

“Why won’t you call that stupid contractor? Or get one of the men around here to do it?”

Sighing, Anne sank down to the floor, leaning against the arch of the door to the bedroom. 

“I don’t want those brutes in my bedroom. As for the contractor… Really, Adney, it’s more than my pride. That’s part of it,” she chuckled, “but I really do believe Charlie’s behavior was completely inappropriate. And it has nothing to do with you, not anymore. At that moment, sure, but, uh, now, it’s - it’s more about the disrespect. She shouldn’t be wrapped around her employer like that.”

“It was innocent, Pony. Nothing was going to happen.”

“Because of you, my love. But that look on her face - the arrogance of it? I - uh - I’ve seen that look before.”

“Have you?” Ann sat up to look at her.

“I’ve been Charlie. More times than I’d like to admit. Seducing someone else’s wife. I know what she was thinking, and it bothers me.” Anne looked down, picking at the wet label on her water bottle. “There’s her own shameful behavior, but then there’s mine. I don’t want to be reminded.”

Perhaps she hadn’t realized it’s until she’d said it. Now, hanging in the air between them, was the truth. Anne’s stubbornness about the contractor had as much to do with her jealousy as it did her own bad behavior. Charles Lawton’s face as Mariana sprang to her feet that afternoon a decade ago. Vere’s fiancé’s firm handshake when they met, his eyes telegraphing a single message: “back off.” The countless boyfriends who’d tugged their girlfriends away, those women Anne seduced in the winding lines to the toilet in dark bars. What goes around comes around, Anne figured; she’d spent years taking for herself, and now that she had someone to call her own? She was only too aware of the possibility of losing her. 

“Pony,” her wife said softly.

“No, no,” Anne shook her head, “it’s so stupid. And I’ve just made you carry all this heavy crap upstairs. Because I’m an idiot. I guess. I don’t know.”

“You are an idiot,” Ann crawled over to her, stroking her face gently. “I understand your not wanting to remember your,” Ann paused, “youthful indiscretions, but you know it wouldn’t have been like that with me. I’m devoted to you. Surely you know that.”

“Of course,” Anne nodded. “Of course.”

“Good.” Ann kissed her lightly. “Now come on, you old reprobate. Are we going to do this or not?”

“Yes,” Anne teased, swatting her ass as she stood. “Are you going to help me?” She picked up her drill, held it in front of her belly. “You were so interested in Charlie’s...drill.”

“I was.” Ann stepped closer, putting a hand on top of the drill, heat radiating to Anne’s core. “Yours seem bigger though.”

“Is it?” Anne husked, wrapping one hand around her wife’s waist, pulling her closer. 

For a moment, they just stared at each other; Anne wondered if this would be it, the moment that broke through. Ann’s pupils were blown wide, her lips parted, her chest rising with uneven breaths. But then she laughed, pecked Anne’s lips, and stepped away. 

“Nice try, Dr. Lister. You almost got me.”

Groaning, Anne set about their work. They installed cabinets along both sides, shelves up above. The room was split in half by the doors connecting their bedroom and bathroom, so they’d each taken a side. Ann’s was a hair larger, but Anne didn’t mind. Each side had a section of cabinets and shelves, then three partitions jutting out, making kind of mini booths. Ann had wanted these sections to hang clothes - winter, summer, and formal/coats/whatever else. Getting these partitions anchored and covered in drywall had been the worst of it, and now they really just had to add in the shelves along the sides. They were halfway through when Marian appeared.

“Good work, ladies,” she said appreciatively.

“It is, isn’t it?” Ann beamed, wrapping her arm around Anne’s waist. 

“Almost looks professional,” Marian nodded.

“Almost?” Anne scoffed.

After a quick dinner, they were back in that closet. Anne was starting to hate it. Would she ever be free from it? She bounced on the balls of her feet, assessing their progress. Two cabinets on her side of the room, then a half dozen shelves. It wouldn’t take too long. She looked at her watch; they could actually finish tonight. 

“I’m tired,” Ann pouted, sitting down on one of the uninstalled cabinets. “This sucks.”

“I know, darling.” Anne kissed the top of her head. “I can finish on my own, if you like. Or pick back up tomorrow.”

“No,” Ann drawled. “I want this to be done. Tonight.”

“Why’s that?” Anne purred, passing her a handful of screws. 

“So I can put my clothes away.”

“I don’t think so.” The drill whirred as she drove the first screw. “I think.” More drilling. “You miss.” Again. “How Well.” Once more. “I fuck you.”

“And what if I did?” Ann asked playfully.

“I guess I would.” She moved to the next cabinet. “Have to remind you.” Ann rolled her eyes at the sharp whine of the drill. “How good I am at it.”

“How would you do that?”

“First, I’d get you in the shower.” Anne changed her mind as she watched the screw spin into place. “No, actually, I think I want you just like this.”

“Why?” Ann said loudly over the noise.

“I bet you’re sweaty.” Anne bit her lip. “I bet you taste so good.”

“Oh, fuck.”

They worked steadily, the drill chopping up Anne’s filthy words.

“I’d like to put my mouth on every inch of you. I fear I’ve forgotten what your skin feels like on my tongue. And then I’d have to settle between your legs. Do you know my favorite part?”

Ann shook her head as they moved to the short shelves. 

“The way your fingers feel in my hair. How your hips press upward under my hands.”

“Good God, Pony,” her wife sighed. Anne turned to her, finding her wife flushed and wild-eyed. Success. “You can’t talk like that.”

“I wonder,” Anne said as she moved to the next booth, “if you want the strap tonight. Or my mouth. My hands. If you want me to go fast. Or slow.”

“Anne.”

On to the next. This was the most fun Anne had had since Wednesday night.

“Tell you what I’d like. I’d like to fuck you. Hard. Fast. Deep. See if my drill is really longer than Charlie’s.” She moved to the last shelf, Ann following behind, offering up screws with shaking hands. “And then I’d like to slow down. Really take my time with you. Beg your forgiveness with my tongue. Remind you why you want to marry me.”

And then they were done. The last shelf hung. Their brand new closet was complete, empty, and smelling faintly of paint. Licking her lips, Anne turned to her wife, so aroused she was almost panting. She grinned, wrapping her free hand around her wife’s neck, pulling their lips together. Ann was desperate and hungry, her hands grasping at Anne’s hips, pulling their pelvises flush. Her entire body rolled against Anne’s, insistent and needy. 

“Hold on,” Anne gasped, pulling away. “Don’t move a muscle.”

Setting down her drill, she raced into the bedroom, stripped out of her shorts and hopped into the harness. She was so excited, so anxious and aroused and desperate, that her hands fumbled over the buckles. By the time she made it back to the crinkly plastic tarp, Ann was bottomless, leaning against one of the cabinets, hand between her legs. She groaned, desire coursing through her veins as she closed the distance between them; standing between Ann’s spread legs, she cupped her face and crashed their lips together. 

Perhaps the waiting had been worth it, she thought, as Ann’s hands slipped under her shirt, clutching and scratching across her back. There was certainly an extra dose of desperation. An impatience. An edge. Ann hooked her hands over Anne’s shoulders, lifting her hips up toward the strap.

“Fuck me, Pony.”

“I intend to,” Anne purred, dragging the head of her cock through Ann’s arousal. She longed to drive into her wife, taking her screaming and shaking, but it simply wasn’t realistic. The rest of the family, for one. Really, though, Anne couldn’t hurt her. She felt rushed, but she would take her time knowing it would be better for both of them. Ann bit her shoulder as she eased slowly inside; they both moaned as Anne’s hips met the inside of Ann’s thighs. “Oh, Adney, how I’ve missed you.”

Ann could only whimper and wrap her legs around Anne’s waist, pulling her deeper. Anne sucked at the warm skin on her neck, easing back slowly before pressing back inside. Wasn’t this heaven? Her wife wrapped around her, clutching and gasping and whimpering in her arms. The exquisite tightness of her core. The sweet, supple skin of her hips. 

“Oh fuck,” she groaned, the harness rubbing against her clit as she picked up speed. “Fuck, Adney, fuck.”

“Stop talking.” Ann’s hips bucked against her. 

“What?” Anne laughed breathlessly, rutting into her wife harder.

“Just fuck me, Pony.”

“Well, I’m trying.”

Ann tugged at her hair. 

“Stop. Fucking. Talking.”

“You think I can’t do both?” Anne panted, her abs burning, her fingers digging into Ann’s hips. “You’ve forgotten - unh - how good I am at this.” She snaked one hand to Ann’s clit. “The best.” 

Ann whimpered, her breath coming faster and faster.

“Come for me, baby. You feel so good,” Anne purred in her ear. “You’re mine, Ann Walker. Never forget that.”

Sinking her teeth into Anne’s shoulder, she came; her release started in her hips, juddering in Anne’s hands, then traveling into her clenching thighs and her shaking torso. 

“Such a good girl.” Anne kissed her jaw. “My sweet Adney. How I’ve missed you.”

With a gentle sigh, Ann opened her eyes, leaning back against the wall as Anne pulled out. No one had ever been so beautiful as she was right now - sated and smiling and sinking to her knees. Looking up at Anne from under her eyelashes, she pressed her lips gently to her cock. Anne was certain her heart stopped.

“Good Lord,” Anne squeaked, taking a handful of blonde curls. “Ann.”

She said nothing, her lips parting slowly as she took Anne into her mouth. A low moan rumbled in her throat. As if in slow motion, Anne watched the pink silicone disappear, inch by inch, until Ann’s nose met the harness. 

“Oh my God,” she breathed. 

Ann pulled back, giving the strap one last kiss before loosening the buckles and easing the harness from her hips. She pressed her lips to the insides of Anne’s thighs, teased her folds, sucked at her clit. With a deep moan, Anne bent forward, her hand slamming into the wall behind her wife. She was no longer a human being, just a series of nerve endings that Ann Walker played like a maestro. 

She could only focus on sensations - pleasure shooting up into her gut, the trembling in her thighs, the silkiness of Ann’s hair between her fingers, the cool wall under her palm, the growing warmth threatening to overwhelm her.

“Ann.” 

It was no more than a breath. A plea. A prayer. 

She had no thoughts, nothing but shockwaves of delight suffusing every inch of her body. Good heavens, she really had missed Ann.

She sank to her knees, flopping to her side and wincing at the impact with the hard floor. Ann crawled next to her, tucking a strand of hair behind Anne’s ear. 

“Adney.”

“Yes?” Ann grinned proudly.

“Oh, I do love you.”

“I love you, my Pony.”

Catching her breath, Anne slipped her hand under Ann’s shirt, tracing her fingers over her hip.

“And you’re still wearing this.”

“You are too.”

“No time,” Anne shrugged.

“Me neither.” 

Ann tilted her chin, their lips met briefly.

“So, Pony, were you just teasing me before?”

“What?” Anne chuckled.

“All that stuff you said. Will you be following through? You’ve done that first part.”

“I guess I will.” Anne stood up shakily, her joints creaking. She pulled Ann upright. “My drill, though.” She looked at the strap.

“It’s bigger than Charlie’s,” Ann said facetiously. “Don’t worry.”

With a grin, Anne hoisted her wife in her arms, carrying her bridal-style to their bedroom. It didn’t matter, not really, about the metaphorical drill. Well, it didn’t hurt to hear it. Ann could always play her like a fiddle, couldn’t she? Her body and her ego.

Setting her on the bed, Anne pulled her wife’s shirt over her head slowly and gently. Unclasping her bra, she bent to take her breast in her mouth, tossing the flimsy lace behind her. Ann leaned backward, her hands twisting in Anne’s hair. As promised, she took her time. Traced her tongue along Ann’s breasts, her ribs, her round belly - Ann was, in fact, sweaty and salty. Pressed her lips to arms and fingertips and collar bones - Ann sighed happily with every kiss. Trailed a path up slim calves and over knobby knees and along dainty thighs - Ann’s hips pressed upward, impatient.

“Darling Adney.” She kissed one hip bone. “Don’t rush me.”

“Please.”

“You smell so good.” Anne inhaled deeply, passing her nose over Ann’s wet center. “I bet you taste even better.”

And she did. Of course. Making love to Ann, like this, tonight, wasn’t about her own desire. It was a reconnection. An adoration. A worship. An apology and a prayer of gratitude. Stupid, stupid stubbornness, Anne thought, keeping her from this for three full days. She promised herself - save a medical problem, extreme distance, or a natural disaster, she would never go that long again. Screw her pride and the mistakes of her past. 

“Pony,” Ann mumbled, her fingers tightening in Anne’s hair. One hand teased her own nipple. A small heel dug into Anne’s shoulder blade. “Oh, Pony. Right - yes, Pony, please - I - unh, Pony, Pony, Pony.”

With strong hands, Anne held her hips steady, easing Ann through her climax. Slowly, Ann’s grip loosened, then her legs splayed open, bouncing against the mattress. Pushing up on her forearms, Anne grinned and took in the delectable sight before her. Blonde curls spreading across pillows, pale skin flushed pink, supple breasts heaving with ragged breaths. She kissed her soft, slick belly, then each breast, then her clavicle, her chin, her lips.

“Anne Lister,” her wife sighed, smiling, her eyes still closed. “I love you so much.”

“I love you.” Anne kissed her again, shuffling off the bed. 

And this was the difference, what made their relationship special and important and unique. There was the sex, obviously. The mind-blowing, dirty and exciting and extremely satisfying sex. But there was also this moment, when Anne helped her wife to her feet, and they padded to the bathroom together. When they performed their nightly ablutions and found their pajamas and teased each other in the mirror. Then the crawling under the covers, the slotting together of their bodies, Anne’s low reading voice giving way to Ann’s soft snores. It wasn’t just the sex that made their relationship so special. It was everything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> I’ve had “closet reno/handywoman” on my little outline for sooooo long. They needed to redo that weird closet room, and what better opportunity to introduce some jealousy from Big Anne?
> 
> I actually did have a friend tell me the roller/top, trim/bottom thing. L to the O to the L.
> 
> I kept trying to stretch it out, but I was just as impatient as they were. Turns out, they are incredibly efficient at home improvement. This chapter is STILL too long. 
> 
> Thank you thank you thank you - always love to hear your thoughts. You all are truly the greatest.


	31. I Don’t Know Why I’m Crying at the Club Right Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If y’all don’t know the meme the title is from... I can’t help you

Cause of death: Ann Walker in a short skirt. 

Anne groaned when her wife appeared, that early December evening, in a long-sleeved, black blouse tucked into an impossibly tight silver skirt. Patterned stockings covered her legs. She was holding up two (seemingly identical) pairs of ankle boots. 

“Which ones?”

“Neither.”

Anne shot to her feet, wrapping her arms around her waist and pulling her close. 

“Let’s stay here. Forget Catherine. Get in that bed, and let's never leave.”

“No, Pony,” Ann laughed, twisting away. “We promised. It’ll be fun.”

With a groan, Anne flopped back onto the bed. Going out on a cold Friday night was bad enough, but now she was expected to go _dancing_? With Catherine? When Ann looked like _that_?

“You know I can’t dance.”

“You actually can,” Ann sauntered to her, planting her hands on either side of Anne’s shoulders and leaning over her. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“I don’t think Catherine likes me.” Anne brushed those blonde curls back behind her ears. 

“I think you’re wrong.” Ann pecked her lips quickly. “Now, come on. We’ll be late.”

It was properly cold, but Anne couldn’t convince her wife to wear a hat or a scarf. Too worried about losing them, Ann only wore her puffy coat, the one that made her look like a round, pink marshmallow. Anne pulled on her long greatcoat and maroon scarf; the coat check would absolutely _not_ lose anything of hers. 

This club, the one that Catherine and Ann had picked, was a bit of a drive away, the draw being that it was known for having a healthy mix of gay and straight couples; Ann had been so excited to dance with her in public. Honestly, Anne was nervous; her dancing skills were not nearly up to snuff. Dancing in a straight club would almost be better - they’re not as good at dancing. No, Anne relented, this was fine. Ann had been looking forward to it for a week, and she was so hopeful for the three of them to get along. Anne liked Catherine, really, but she felt insecure around her. Catherine had known her wife for longer, perhaps even knew things Anne didn’t know. Ordinarily, Anne might get possessive and territorial, trying to stake her claim on Ann, but she felt that wasn’t the right approach with Catherine. 

And so she found herself checking their coats, leaving her credit card with the bartender, and carefully carrying a whisky and two watery, expensive drinks to a tiny hightop table. 

“Lister!” Catherine yelled over the music. “Glad to see you!”

“You too,” Anne said loudly. “How are you?”

“What?” 

And that’s the problem with going to a club, Anne thought. No real conversation. Just drinking and shouting and dancing. Anne really only liked the first of these. Catherine and Ann were yelling into each other’s ears, laughing and sipping their drinks and scanning the crowd. The song changed. They finished their drinks, and Ann took her hand. 

“Come on!”

Begrudgingly, Anne allowed herself to be led to the dancefloor. The beat pulsed around them; the gyrating, sweaty bodies of their fellow dancers intimidated her. She could hardly compete with the young, muscular men grinding together, the slender-armed women wrapped around each other, and the straight couples...doing their best. Catherine was coaxing a young man with a buzzcut into her arms, her lips pressed to his ear as they swayed out of rhythm. 

“Pony,” Ann whisper-shouted, “relax.”

She did. She tried, at least. Focusing on the feeling of Ann’s hips under hands, the fast music, the warmth of Ann’s arms around her neck. She could get used to this, Anne thought, as long as she could stay out of her head. It was easy to get self-conscious; she felt too old and stuffy to be around all these young people. She’d been confident in her jeans and sweater-over-flannel, but now she felt rather buttoned-up. There were fully shirtless men in this club, despite the snow on the ground outside; women in crop tops and shorts baffled her. Wouldn’t they get cold?

“Pony,” Ann said again, “you’re all stiff.”

With that, her wife turned around, pressing her ass into Anne’s crotch. How did Ann Walker get so good at grinding? She moved so fluidly, so freely - one hand reaching behind to tangle in Anne’s hair, the other squeezing Anne’s forearm around her waist. This was better, Anne thought; she could follow her wife’s lead a little easier like this. Their bodies knew each other so well; if Anne could only relax, they would find their groove. 

And then Ann pressed back a little harder. Tugged her hair a little longer. Tilted her chin over her shoulder. Leaning forward, Anne brought their lips together. Ann’s tongue shot into her mouth, and their kiss was sloppy and dirty and perfect. 

That’s what she needed. Her self-consciousness floated away. Ann in her arms. Their hearts beating in rhythm to the music. Her pelvis pressed into her wife’s ass. Heat radiating between them. 

“Fuck, Ann,” she husked, “I’m tempted to take you right here.”

Ann laughed and twisted away, twirling in front of her then back into her arms. She kissed her again, her small hands cupping Anne’s face; their hips slotted together. Anne trailed her hands up Ann’s hips, splaying over her ribs, pulling her close. Almost without realizing, Anne started to assess their situation - how easily could she bury herself in the clutching depth between Ann’s legs? There weren’t enough people on the dancefloor to cover Anne’s hand slipping under her skirt. Not to mention those blasted stockings. Perhaps she’d have to rip them before this was all over. The toilet was an option, but Anne wasn’t sure of the situation. Probably a long line, a cramped stall, nothing worth leaving this exquisite embrace. 

“You’re a good dancer,” Ann teased in her ear. “Don’t look so worried.”

“I’m not worried.”

“You’ve got that face on.”

“What face?”

“The one when you’re thinking about something.”

“I am.” Anne traced her tongue along the shell of Ann’s ear. “I’m thinking about how I could fuck you.” Ann exhaled sharply against her neck. “I don’t think I can wait until we get home.”

Ann opened her mouth to respond, but then the song changed. She screamed; Anne took a step back. Catherine raced over to them, taking Ann’s hands and steering her into the jumping, shouting crowd. Everyone seemed to know this song but Anne. She settled on getting another drink. Catherine and Ann certainly seemed happy out there, bouncing and yelling and grinning. Anne drank quickly, trying to lubricate her dry throat as Ann’s breasts bobbed with her movements, her skirt rode up on her thighs, her flushed face beamed as her eyes found Anne. 

“Let’s go outside,” Ann shouted as the song ended. “Get me another drink.”

Ever dutiful, Anne got two more of those fruity drinks Ann and Catherine loved, then wove her way to the back of the club. More and more people were arriving, and it was getting hot inside. Stumbling onto the brick patio, she found her wife and Catherine huddled together under a heat lamp, whispering to each other.

“And what are you two gossiping about?” 

“We’re trying to get cigarettes,” Catherine said seriously; Ann kissed her cheek and took her drink. “We think that guy might have some.”

“Oh, ladies,” Anne purred, producing the pack she’d just bought from the bartender. “Have a little faith.”

“Anne!” Her wife squealed, hopping up and down. 

“Yes!” Catherine pumped her fist in the air. “I knew I liked you!”

“Did you?” Anne grinned, fishing out her lighter and putting two cigarettes between her lips; she felt like Paul Henreid in _Now, Voyager_. That reference, however, made her feel very old. Anne wondered if she was the oldest person there. She passed one cigarette to Ann, then hesitated. “Can I light you one, Catherine? I guess it might be gross.”

“Give me that.” Catherine plucked the smoke from her lips. “We’re all friends here.”

Anne laughed, shaking out another cigarette. Catherine was a bit of a spitfire, wasn’t she?

“So,” Anne took a long drag, “have you met anyone tonight?”

“I think so,” Catherine rattled on, comparing the attributes of the three men she’d danced with since they arrived. Anne didn’t really listen. She was entranced by her wife’s pretty pink lips wrapped around that brown filter, the pink swipe left behind by her lipstick, the paleness of her slender fingers. Ann caught her staring and nudged her, jolting Anne back into the present. “So I’m thinking it’s between Buzzcut and GreenShirt.”

“Such unique names,” Ann teased. 

“Oh, whatever!” Catherine elbowed her. “It’s loud in there.”

“Yeah, I think it’s filling up,” Anne offered, stubbing out on the side of the building and depositing her butt in the plastic receptacle. “Did you drive, Catherine?”

“Uber.”

“Be happy to give you a lift,” Anne offered.

“Oh, Dr. Lister,” Catherine purred, making for the door, “I hope to find a ride of my own.”

With a wink, she disappeared back into the thumping music. Anne laughed and turned back to her wife, who was shaking her head. She held out her half-smoked cigarette.

“I can’t finish this.”

“Poor Adney,” Anne clicked her tongue, taking the smoke from her. “What now?”

“We should dance a little more.”

“Of course.” Anne wrapped her arms around her slim frame, holding her close. “How long before we can leave?”

“Pony,” Ann whined into her chest, “at least try to have fun.”

“I am!” Anne kissed the top of her head. “I am having a lot of fun.”

The patio was deserted. They were positioned behind the door. They’d be blocked if it swung open. Enough time to jump apart. If need be. Anne trailed one hand down her wife’s behind, slipping under her skirt.

“Pony,” Ann warned.

“What? My hand is cold.”

“Pony!” Ann laughed, leaning back, her tiny hands on Anne’s chest. “We can’t.”

“Can’t we?” The cigarette dangled between her lips, one hand kneading her firm behind, the other tracing circles over her hip.  
“You’ll rip my stockings.”

“Me?” Anne asked incredulously. “Never.”

“You’re a bad girl, Dr. Lister,” Ann teased, pulling away and stepping toward the door. “Let’s go.”

Begrudgingly, Anne followed. For more than one reason, she wished she hadn’t. The first, of course, that she would much rather screw her wife up against the rough brick behind a club than … well, just about anything else. The second reason was the crush of people that met them as soon as they stepped inside; Ann’s hand tightened around her own. This would be too much for her, Anne knew, but she didn’t want to pressure her. Ann seemed hellbent on diving into the throng of sweaty bodies. 

As her wife led her into the crowd, Anne reminded herself that Ann was thirty years old. An adult. Who knew her boundaries. Had been in therapy for years. Had planned this night and, even now, was venturing further into the mass of dancing strangers. She didn’t need Anne to stick her nose in, get all parental, condescend and drag her home. 

Instead, Anne forced herself to relax, to move to the music, to guide Ann’s hips as she pressed gently into her. It was easier now, this dancing, with so many people around. There was very little choice to do anything else, with such little space, and absolutely no one was looking at them. They were all too focused on themselves, their partners, the ear-shattering pulse of the music. Anne spotted Catherine, dancing with yet another man; she kept her eye on Catherine, wanting to be sure she was safe. Ann pressed closer, their bodies flush; her lips met Anne’s neck.

“Fuck me, Pony.”

“What?” Anne craned her neck back, trying to catch a glimpse of her wife’s face, but she was buried in her shoulder. “Adney. What?”

“Here. On this dancefloor. Fuck me. I know you want to.”

“Do you want to?” Anne husked in her ear. 

“Yes, Pony, fuck.”

Good heavens, how long had it been? Since Anne had felt anybody up in a club. Since she’d snaked her hand between their overheated bodies, bunched up a pretty girl’s skirt, ripped her stockings at the seam. Since her elbow had knocked against another person’s, only to look up and find they were doing the exact same thing. The silent nod of acknowledgement that always made her want to giggle. It had been years, easily. And never as good as this. 

“Yes,” Ann breathed in her ear, hands curling around her neck. 

Anne wanted to whisper all those filthy nothings she loved to say, but it was too loud. Besides, she wanted to keep an eye on Catherine, who was now all but undressing this beefy guy near the wall. Adjusting her stance, Anne found her wife’s wet center, pressed against her clit, ground her hips against her. She wrapped her free hand around Ann’s narrow waist, holding her close as her knees buckled. Ann was crumpling into her, her forehead nodding against Anne’s jumper, her hands slipping down into her back pockets. Anne strummed her clit gently, teasing her small bud to attention. And then Ann tensed. 

“Okay, baby?” Anne whispered in her ear, hoping she could hear her. The crowd seemed closer, the air warmer, the music impossibly louder. “Let’s stop. Let’s go outside.”

“No,” Ann’s voice cracked and she looked up, her eyes welling with tears. “No, I can do this.”

Anne’s heart broke. Poor Ann. She wanted so desperately to be young and vibrant and do all the things people her age were “supposed” to do. But she couldn’t, not always. The crush of the crowd was too much for her. Anne would wager the alcohol had just hit her. Two drinks so quickly was probably too much. Anne pulled her hand away, straightened her skirt, took her clammy hand. 

“We’re leaving.”

She didn’t wait for the argument. She hadn’t wanted to take control like this, but now Ann needed it. That was part of being a good partner, Anne believed, doing what was best for your loved one, even if they disagreed. Pushing through the gyrating bodies and tugging her wife behind her, Anne found Catherine and put a hand on her back. Catherine spun around, her lipstick smeared; looking behind her, Anne found most of it was spread across this young man’s face.

“We’re leaving,” Anne said loudly.

“Have a good night,” Catherine said, as if she didn’t understand why Anne was telling her this. 

“You’re coming with us.”

“I’m not,” Catherine laughed.

“I’m not spending all night wondering if you’ve been murdered,” Anne said forcefully. “We need to go, and you’re here alone. Come on.”

“Ann,” Catherine appealed to her friend, only just now seeing her tears. “Oh. Oh, right, okay.”

The trio bustled to the cooler air at the foyer of the club. Anne left her credit card at the bar; she’d come get it in the morning. She demanded their coats, then tugged the younger women into the icy night. Ann was shaking, biting her trembling lip and clutching Anne’s hand like a vise. Handing the stub to the valet, Anne wrapped both women in her arms. 

“Bloody cold, isn’t it?”

“It fucking is,” Catherine said lightly, though her expression betrayed her concern. She and Anne made eye contact over Ann’s head, buried in her wife’s jumper again; Anne shook her head. For a moment, they huddled together like that, bouncing lightly as they waited for the car.

“Did you get his phone number?” Anne asked.

“Yes,” Catherine blushed, “I did actually.”

“Good for you, Miss Rawson.”

“I didn’t peg you for a dancer, Dr. Lister, but you looked like a natural.”

“Hardly,” Anne laughed. “It’s all Ann.”

No response. Her darling was still quaking in her arms; Anne and Catherine shifted to enclose Ann between them. Anne stroked the back of her head, praying that this was just a panic attack and nothing more serious. It had been so long since Ann had been upset like this, since she’d fallen apart. She checked her watch. Where the hell was the car? She rounded on the valet, lounging against the stand, chomping his gum and staring at his phone. 

“Does it always take this long?”

“Takes as long as it takes.” He shrugged.

“Where’s your partner?” 

“Huh?”

“The guy who’s getting my car.”

“Just me out here.”

And then Anne saw it - her claim ticket. Right there on his stand, warm and cozy under the heat lamp. He was just - what? Just dawdling? While Ann was barely hanging on to her sanity in freezing temperatures? Her whole world turned red. 

“Listen to me,” she spat, advancing on him and extending her index finger. “My wife is cold and tired and ready to get home. You’re going to go - right fucking now - and get my car. I swear to God, and I mean this, if you are not back here, with the heat blasting and the seat warmers on high, within five minutes, I will suffocate you with your own testicles.”

“Jesus Christ,” the boy exhaled, his eyes wide with fear.

“That’s who you’ll be meeting if you aren’t back here in,” she checked her watch, “four minutes and thirty-three seconds.”

The Range Rover appeared with ten seconds to spare. The valet tumbled out, panting and backing away as Anne loaded her wife into the passenger seat. She was a large, pink marshmallow with a blonde head poking out, opening her mouth as Anne buckled her seat belt. Anne kissed her cheek and shook her head. No need to speak right now, she communicated with a squeeze of her hand, Pony’s got you.

“Where do you live, Catherine?” Anne said as she pulled the car away. 

“About thirty minutes in the opposite direction of Shibden,” Catherine answered sheepishly.

“Do you mind to stay with us?” Anne looked in the rear view mirror. She needed to get Ann home as quickly as possible; from the look in Catherine’s eyes, she seemed to know that.

“No, no, not if you have the space.”

“Good.” Anne sped down the road, calling Marian from the car. “Marian, look, yes, I know it’s late. Be quiet, will you? Is the guest room made up? Good. Okay, thank you, Marian. Yes, good night.”

Exhausting, Anne thought. Marian wouldn’t be so grouchy if she knew this was for her Precious Little Ann. She’d tell her in the morning. Once Ann was better. Turning her head, she snuck a glance at her. She was certainly doing better now. The tremors had stopped. She was still biting her lip, but she did unzip about a third of her puffy coat. Catherine chattered innocuously, filling the silence; Anne felt immensely grateful to have her prattle surrounding them. 

Pulling up to Shibden, Anne squeezed her wife’s hand again. The panic was probably gone by now, but Ann would definitely be tired and embarrassed and weepy. A good night for tea and a cuddle. 

“Adney, love, would you take Catherine upstairs? Lend her something to sleep in. I’ll be right there.”

Climbing the stairs with three mugs of tea, Anne made a plan. Twenty to thirty minutes of chatting with Catherine. Then ushering her, graciously, to the guest room. Wrapping Ann in their softest blanket, talking through the panic, maybe braiding her hair. Then falling asleep with her delicate little woman in her arms.

Catherine was stretched out on Anne’s side of the bed, which needled her. Surely she knew they shared this bed. She could’ve sat somewhere else. Anne inhaled deeply. Pushing aside her territorial tendencies was not easy, but Anne would do anything for her wife. But then - the horror - on Ann’s side was Marian. Snuggled up in her old striped pajamas and sandwiching Ann between herself and Catherine.

“There she is,” Catherine crowed, taking the proffered mug. “Thank you, Dr. Lister.”

“You’re in my bed and wearing my fiancée’s pajamas, Catherine, you can call me Anne.”

Catherine laughed good-naturedly, and Anne handed off the two remaining mugs to her wife. Marian scoffed, but she ignored it, dragging the new armchair from their closet to Ann’s side of the bed. Someday she meant to make love to her in this chair, but they hadn’t had the chance yet. For now, she sat down low, stretching her legs up to the side of the bed; Marian swatted her foot playfully.

“Sister, dear, to what do we owe the pleasure?” 

“If you’re going to call me in the middle of the night,” Marian said dryly, “I’m going to want to hear about your night in town.”

Rolling her eyes, clicked her tongue; the three of them certainly looked cozy, cuddled up in Anne’s bed, with Anne’s wife and Anne’s tea. She forced herself to exhale, not to pout. This was good for Ann, she reasoned, having everyone around her.

“Cat was telling us about the boy she met,” Ann offered.

“GreenShirt?” Anne teased.

“Yes,” Catherine laughed, “but I think his real name is Mike.”

“Not sure I like that as much,” Anne hummed. “Not so memorable.”

Ann’s bright laughter filled the room; Anne and Catherine made eye contact. Progress. They eased more and more conversation from Ann, until her earlier tears seemed entirely forgotten. Catherine’s phone buzzed. She groaned.

“What is it?” Ann leaned over.

“Mike has sent me a… well, see for yourself.”

Ann shrieked with laughter, clamping a hand over her mouth. Marian looked over her shoulder, erupting in throaty, blushing laughter. Anne looked between the three women in confusion - what were they looking at?

“Oh _God_ ,” Catherine groaned again. “Why do they always do this?”

“Can’t help it,” Marian said with a shrug. “He thinks you’ll be impressed.”

“Well, I’m not!”

“What is it?” Anne asked.

“It’s a -” Catherine turned to her friend. “I can’t even.”

“It’s a dick pic, darling,” Ann stretched her leg so that her toes brushed against the sole of Anne’s foot. “Do you want to see it?”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Anne responded, her face coloring. This was certainly something with which she had no experience. “I wonder if Mike GreenShirt realizes two strangers would be seeing that, in addition to yourself, Catherine.”

“If men don’t want their dick pics passed around, they shouldn’t send them unprompted,” Marian said matter-of-factly.

“Ugh,” Catherine swung her legs over the side of the bed. “I’m off. Going to deal with this. Thank you, Ann and Anne, for a lovely night.”

“Let me show you the guest room,” Anne offered, following her into the hallway. She lowered her voice, “thank you, really, for tonight. You’re very good with her.”

“Not as good as you,” Catherine smiled as they reached the spare room, “but I’ve known Ann a long time. I should’ve realized it was too crowded for her.”

“I thought it was, but I didn’t want to, you know, say she couldn’t do it.”

“Right,” Catherine nodded. “She really loves you, you know.”

“I really love her,” Anne said to the floor. She forced herself to look up and say this sincerely and honestly, “I’m glad she has you in her life.”

“Back at ya, Pony.” Catherine winked and closed the door.

Alone in the dark hallway, Anne couldn’t help but laugh in disbelief. How did Catherine - Ann must’ve - oh, she was a wily one, that Ann Walker. Marian gave her a kiss on the cheek as they passed in the hall, a silent “good job” and “she’s okay now” and “Ann is my friend too.” It was hard to remember, sometimes, that Ann wasn’t just hers. Marian cared about her a great deal, as did Catherine, apparently. Striding back into their bedroom, Anne found her wife snuggled under the covers, balancing the mug on her chest. 

“You’re going to spill,” Anne said gently, stripping off her jumper. “And then you’ll be angry.” 

“I already spilled,” Ann said quietly, her eyes the picture of innocence.

Opening her mouth, Anne found she had nothing to say. Instead she just laughed, shaking her head and putting on her pajamas. She brought a fluffy blanket from the closet and climbed into bed, leaning against the headboard and opening her arms and legs wide. Ann climbed in, cradling her mug carefully, allowing Anne to wrap the blanket around her middle. She leaned back, her weight comforting and warm against Anne’s chest. For a few moments, they just breathed. 

“What happened?” Anne asked softly. She’d read recently that this was the best question to ask in moments like this - not “why” or “who” or “what made you-.” Just simple - what happened. 

“I got too hot,” Ann whispered, “and not the good kind. I knew there were too many people, but I wanted to stay. And then it was pretty good. I kind of got into it, you know? And then - I - well I was all worked up, and I thought - uh, I thought I wanted you to - you know, so then I - right, so that was good, Pony, really that was good.” Anne hummed softly in acknowledgment; she didn’t want to interrupt. “I always feel so safe - uh, when I’m with you, and I did - I do! But then it was, like, everyone was on top of me. I couldn’t breathe, and that - that’s when I knew I was too hot. And then - you know, and then it went from there.”

“Okay.” Anne kissed the top of her head. “You did a very good job.”

“I didn’t,” Ann said sadly. “I couldn’t even have a normal night out with my friend and my wife.”

“You had the best parts, Ann. I mean that. We drank and danced - you even had a smoke! Half of one,” Anne teased. “And then it got a bit much, and that’s okay. We collected Catherine, and we left. We got home safely.”

“Why do I have to be like this?” Ann whined.

“I wouldn’t have you any other way, my love. I know it’s frustrating. You get better and better every day. You do so many things so incredibly well. You have great friends,” Anne counted off on her fingers, “a wife who adores you, a loving family, a mopey old dog who’d give his life for you,” Ann chuckled, “skill as a painter, an excellent job, the chance to make a difference in the life of children, a brand new closet, a creepy old house, and millions and millions of pounds.” Anne wiggled her ten extended fingers in the air. “Shall I go on? I can’t count any higher.”

“Thank you, Pony.”

“And you handled it very well, my darling. We can try again.”

“Thank you, Pony,” she said again, toying with Anne’s fingers.

“Now I have a question for you, Mrs. Lister.”

“Oh?”

“Why did Catherine Rawson just call me ‘Pony?’”

Ann laughed, turning her head to meet Anne’s gaze over her shoulder. She kissed the back of her hand quickly. Anne clicked her tongue and squeezed her hand. She wanted an answer

“Catherine and I have been best friends for a long time, Pony. We share everything.”

“How much of everything?” Anne purred in her ear.

“Just about all of it.”

“Adney!”

“Well!” Ann turned in her arms to face her. “She’s my best friend! She just showed me a dick pic she got!”

“Adney,” Anne whined, “that stuff is private.”

“Oh - Oh, Pony,” Ann’s face colored with understanding, “not that. Not details. Not specifics! Just that we shag a lot.” She smoothed one hand down Anne’s chest. “And that I call you Pony. And that we own a strap.”

“Ann!” Her jaw fell open, surprised and delighted at the audacity of her supposedly shy wife. “Come on!”

“She guessed,” Ann protested, her voice childlike and her bottom lip jutting out. “Are you cross with me?”

“No,” Anne chuckled. “I couldn’t be.”

Ann tilted her chin, and their lips met tenderly. Anne exhaled into the kiss, feeling the tension and worry leaving her body. Ann was okay. They were both okay. She didn’t mind Catherine knowing these things, though it did surprise her that Ann would be so open about it. Hold on...hadn’t Marian said something saucy to her lately?

“Have you told Marian?” Anne asked as they settled under the covers, Ann pressed fast against her front.

“Told her what?” Ann said sleepily. 

“About the strap,” Anne said playfully, through her teeth.

“Oh no,” Ann yawned, “just that you like spanking.”

“What!” Anne cried.

“Kidding, Pony, kidding.” Ann turned around, looking up at her with those deep blue eyes. “Marian and I talk about sex sometimes. You know that.”

“I do,” Anne said warily. “How detailed?”

“Why don’t you ask her?” Ann teased.

Clicking her tongue, Anne took her wife’s chin between her thumb and forefinger and kissed her soundly. What an infuriating little person, she thought. Ann turned around, snuggling back into the pillows. Anne curled her arm backwards, grabbing their book, then back around to Ann’s waist. She flicked the book open, but her wife was already snoring. Panic attacks always took so much out of her, not to mention that she got so sleepy when she drank. Anne kissed her temple. 

All that talk about Catherine and Marian didn’t matter, not really; she forgot, sometimes, that Ann didn’t belong only to her. That she was infinitely interesting and other people realized it too. That was the point of this late night chat, wasn’t it? Reminding Ann how strong and capable and wonderful she was. Building her back up. Putting that confident smirk back on her face. Giving Ann Walker her confidence back? It was one of her favorite jobs, even if she had to split it with Catherine and Marian. And tonight? Mission accomplished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Initially this came as a Very Good Idea from Kelsey-B. But why did I have to make it so sad? Been a lot of Anne crying lately, so I was like let’s get some Strong Anne back protecting her Baby Adney. Plus not a lot of Catherine in this story, so I wanted to bring her back. I think I’d like to retry their going to a club in the future, when Ann can handle it, and they really get up to some shenanigans. 
> 
> The “what happened” is something I use with my students when they’re upset, and it does help them work through those tough emotions. I’m not a panic attack expert, so maybe it’s not the best. I can see Anne reading up on how to support Ann with this kind stuff, so I wanted to include that. 
> 
> I get nervous posting chapters without smut, but I think we can take a break. Hope y’all still enjoyed. 
> 
> Thank you!! Your comments mean the world.


	32. Christmas Adam

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As an American, it offends my sensibility to call cookies “biscuits” but I endeavor for authenticity.

Ann adored Cordingley. Plain and simple. Worshipped her. She could’ve served garbage with a side of urine for lunch, and Ann would eat every bite with a smile on her face. There was something about her - the warm smile and the dry wit and the expertise in the kitchen - something special. Cordingley wasn’t one of those flat, pudgy cooks with a red face and big smile, a background actor who had no life of her own. No, she was actually bloody fascinating. On the afternoons Anne worked late or traipsed around the estate, Ann loved nothing more than to hover in the kitchen, watching and listening and soaking up as much Cordingley as she could. She was always spouting off interesting facts as she worked, tossing them to Ann like they were nothing; to Ann, of course, they were gold.

Fact: Cordingley had been to France with Anne several times.

“And then I broke my damned leg,” Cordingley had laughed, “and Dr. Lister let me come home.”

Fact: She’d caught Anne and Mariana in bed more than once.

“I have seen that woman’s tits more often than her husband!”

Fact: She made the best sweets on the planet.

“It’s butter,” she whispered conspiratorially, “nobody puts enough in.”

That’s why Ann was now rolling out dough for biscuits, her arms aching from the effort. It was actually quite difficult, especially with Ann’s height; she suspected she’d have more success if the counter were lower. It didn’t matter, though, because Ann was getting to bask in the glow of Cordingley and Hemingway as they prepared the family’s Christmas meals. Though it was only the 23rd, they always left half-made casseroles and desserts for the festivities: cold dishes just waiting for the oven, cakes languishing in the refrigerator, biscuits tempting Ann from the counter. They would make it all ahead of time, leave it for the Listers to cook, and take their week holiday. 

“Very good,” Hemingway said, laying out cookie cutters next to Ann. “I think that’s just right.”

“Did you see John this morning?” Cordingley called.

“No.” Hemingway sounded bitter as she passed Ann a metal star. “Did you?”

“Uh-huh.” Cordingley put the first batch of biscuits in the oven. “Eugenie’s given him the sack.”

Ah, Eugenie. Anne’s mysterious assistant. Ann hardly saw her, knew only of the tasks she completed for her wife - picking up dry cleaning, making reservations, all the things normal people do for themselves. More often than not, she seemed to do academic work for her - tracking a rare book, dealing with Anne’s publisher, combing through reams of research for her. Ann thought she seemed a little sour. 

“Has she really?” Hemmingway’s eyes lit up. 

Ann smiled, excited to be a part of this conversation. She knew Hemingway had a minor crush on John Booth, but he’d been strung along by Eugenie for a few months now. She snuck a look at Cordingley, who rolled her eyes and started loading the dishwasher.

“Yes, actually,” Cordingley said dryly, “maybe you could keep it in your pants until after Christmas.”

“Why bother?” Hemingway wiped her hands and rushed to the door, checking her hair in the reflection of the window. “Think they’re still outside?”

“Anne said they’d be out there until four,” Ann offered. Her fool of a wife was overseeing some estate work or other. What they could possibly do with an inch of snow on the ground was a mystery to Ann. 

“Excellent!” Hemingway beamed, wrapping herself in her heavy coat. 

“And what exactly is your plan?” Cordingley asked, hand on her hip.

“I’ll tell him I love him.”

“Hemingway!” Cordingley and Ann cried in unison, then looked at each other and laughed. 

“Take a chance,” Hemingway said resolutely. “Shoot my shot.”

“Why don’t you bring him a biscuit?” Cordingley gestured to the rejects, the ones deemed too hard or crumbly for icing. They’d been snacking on them all day. 

“Good idea,” Hemingway grabbed the plate. “I’m off.”

Laughing, Ann and Cordingley watched her trudge off into the field. They shook their heads, returning to their tasks; Ann had cut out about two dozen stars from the dough, and Cordingley took the tray from the oven. 

“These look good,” she said appreciatively, admiring the gingerpeople. “You’re a natural.”

“Hardly,” Ann laughed, “but thank you for letting me help.”

“Well, you see what I’m working with,” Cordingley chuckled, gesturing to Hemingway’s exit. “Nice to have an extra pair of hands.”

Had she ever felt so useful? Like she was actually a part of the family? She was always shut out of the kitchen as a child, then she grew too nervous to ask as she got older. Surely the staff would be annoyed by her bumbling, her questions, her slowness. Cordingley never seemed that way. She was endlessly patient and warm and kind. Every day, Ann was grateful she’d come to Shibden.

They spent the next hour icing the biscuits. Drawing little pants and dresses on their stubby bodies. Reds and greens and white on the circles and stars. Ann usually spent the week before Christmas worrying about packing, fretting about travelling, anxiously chewing her nails down to the cuticle at the thought of overstaying her welcome with the Sutherlands. This year, however, she was cheerfully ensconced in her own home, and, while she would miss the children, she really couldn’t be happier. 

“Don’t wait up,” Marian winked as Thomas came to the kitchen door to pick her up. 

“Off to the pub,” Captain Lister said happily on his way out the door. 

“Have a Happy Christmas,” Cordingley told Ann sincerely as she left for the day.

And then Ann was alone. Aunt Anne usually took a nap around now, in the late afternoon and before dinner. She wiped down the countertops, feeling sufficiently domestic surrounded by the fruits of her labor. Anne swept in, as she always did, large and effervescent and grinning. Her thick greatcoat swirled around her, her face pink from the cold, and her eyes gleaming at the sight of her wife. 

“Hello, darling,” she beamed, taking Ann’s face in her cold hands and kissing her soundly. “How are you?”

“Better now.” Ann draped her arms around her wife’s neck. “What in the world were you doing out there?”

“Oh, this and that.” Anne ran her hands up and down Ann’s sides. “Did you have fun with Cordingley?”

“Yes.”

“And what is this ravishing ensemble?”

Anne took a step back, taking Ann’s hands and spreading her arms wide. Ann was halfway embarrassed, in her overalls and fuzzy socks; when Cordingley had agreed to let her help bake, she’d changed into these for ease of movement. She’d rolled up Anne’s thick flannel to her elbows, and she felt exceptionally cozy. Partly from the comfort of the overalls, partly from the thick socks, and partly from the sweet and slightly musky scent of her wife still clinging to the shirt. Now, however, under Anne’s lascivious gaze, she felt a bit foolish. 

“Oh, I just wanted to be comfortable.”

“Well, I’m feeling,” Anne twisted her hips, “a bit uncomfortable.”

“And why is that?” Ann toyed with the lapels on her wife’s coat.

“Because you’re so sexy like this.” Anne dipped her head to press her lips to Ann’s neck, under the collar of her own shirt. “Because you drive me crazy.”

“This coat,” Ann said appreciatively, “do you wear it on purpose?”

“For the cold,” Anne chuckled; her face was still buried in the crook of Ann’s neck, her hands roaming along Ann’s sides, her ass, her hips. “Why else?”

“To make me wet,” Ann breathed. “You look so - fuck, Pony, you’re so powerful in this thing.”

Pulling back, Anne looked at her incredulously. She laughed, then lifted Ann onto the counter. Ann tilted her chin, and their lips met in a giggly, sloppy, joyful kiss. Anne ran her hands up her thighs to her hips, pulling her close; Ann wrapped her legs loosely around her narrow hips and tugged on those thick, wool lapels. God, this coat was something else. Was she addicted to Anne’s clothes?

“We’re a pair, aren’t we?” Anne laughed, fiddling with the straps at Ann’s shoulders. “All keyed up on each other’s clothes? What’s that about?”

“I just like the way you dress.” Anne shivered as Ann slipped her hands under her coat, along her broad shoulders and the soft cashmere of her jumper. Ann had bought her this light blue little number last week. “Sometimes because I picked it out, but this coat? That’s all you, darling.”

“Now, Adney,” Anne panted, “I like this - whatever this is, but - fuck, how do I get it open?”

“Pony,” Ann laughed, “you don’t mean to -” Anne quirked an eyebrow, “right here?”

“Why not?” Anne purred, squeezing her hips. “Everyone’s gone.”

“Your aunt is upstairs.”

“She’s your aunt too,” Anne said into her neck, “and she’s asleep right now, you know that.” 

“On the counter?” Ann couldn’t help smiling, excited by the idea. “Naughty Pony.”

“Well, we’re not getting anywhere,” Anne growled, “with these fucking buckles.”

Ann laughed and undid the buckles at her collarbones, the faded denim flopping into her lap. Growling, Anne wrapped her hands around Ann’s waist and crashed their lips together. What a delight, Ann thought as her brain turned fuzzy with arousal, that the fire between them never went out. It was constant, her desire for Anne Lister, and the feeling appeared to be mutual. Anne certainly wasn’t holding back as she nosed her way down Ann’s shirt and flicked open the first few buttons. As her strong hands covered Ann’s breasts, stroking her through the thin cotton of her bra, Ann couldn’t believe that Anne wanted her as much as she did. It still made her head spin, the depth of Anne’s desire for her, Ann Walker, of all people. 

“You are so beautiful,” Anne whispered in her ear, trailing one hand to her lap. She adjusted them, pulling Ann closer and spreading her legs wider for better access; oh, she loved this, Ann did, the way Anne could fit their bodies together perfectly. “You know I watched you,” her rapidly warming hand traced over Ann’s belly, “just for a moment, before I came inside.” She kissed the underside of her jaw. “How dainty.” Another kiss. “And adorable.” Another kiss as her fingers slipped into Ann’s panties. Ann moaned weakly. “And lovely and sweet and,” she eased a slender finger inside, “mine.”

“Oh, Pony,” Ann breathed, clutching her shoulders. “Fuck.”

“I can’t believe,” Anne purred, starting a slow and gentle rhythm, her free hand splaying across Ann’s back, “we haven’t done this before.”

“You - unh, have so many - right there,” she gasped as Anne swiped her clit in that perfect way, “unh, you have so many people around.”

Anne laughed, fiendish and bordering on breathless. She sucked lightly at Ann’s neck, stroking her perfectly up to the edge of her release. There was an urgency to her movements, but Ann wished they had more time. She wished she could live in this moment, drown in the exquisite pleasure building between her legs. Nothing was better than this, Anne’s breath hot in her ear and her well-practiced hand unraveling her with every touch. 

“You think you’re funny, don’t you?” Anne growled, moving faster. “Think you’re going to tease me, do you?” Ann tried to laugh, but she could only whimper. “That’s better. Can’t say much, now, huh, Adney?”

“Shut,” Ann breathed, “up.”

“You know,” Anne slowed down her ministrations, “I don’t think I will. If you don’t like the way I do this,” she took a step back, “I guess I won’t do it anymore.”

“No!” Adney whined. “No, baby, please.”

“You’re always telling me to shut up,” Anne pouted, pulling her hand away. Ann grabbed her wrist. “Oh, ho, Miss Walker. So strong.”

“I’m sorry,” Ann said sweetly, trying to butter her wife up. Building up her ego was a sure way to get Anne back in the mood. “I love to hear your voice, darling.” She led her hand back between her legs. “Please, Pony, keep going.”

“You’re lucky you’re so pretty,” Anne purred, easing back inside her and moving slowly. “You almost hurt my feelings. It’s a good thing I know how much you love me.”

Ann whimpered, clutching at her wife in desperation. She did love Anne’s voice, when it was husky and when it was rough and when it was smooth as silk. Sometimes her teasing words were infuriating, but other times, as today, it was too much. If she lost herself to the low tones of Anne’s voice, she’d come in a moment. Her hands and her lips were bad enough, but her voice on top of it? The things she said? The way her breath hit Ann’s cheek and neck? Ann was a goner. 

“Pony!” 

It was all she could manage as her climax crashed into her. Anne eased her through with a gentle touch and soft whispers as she shook with relief. She sagged into Anne’s strong shoulder, panting and inhaling the outdoorsy smell on her coat.

“Telling me to shut up,” Anne clicked her tongue and pulled her hand away, “when I’m _inside_ you. No manners.”

“Oh, Pony,” Ann smiled, taking her wet hand and kissing her fingertips. “I didn’t mean it. You see,” she sucked her arousal from Anne’s fingers, moaning softly, “your voice is so sexy, my love. I wouldn’t last a moment.”

“Adney,” she breathed, and Ann saw the need in her eyes. 

Did they have time? Aunt Anne wouldn’t be up for at least another half hour. Marian and Captain Lister weren’t likely to be back until after dinner. The staff was gone for the holiday. Plenty of time, Ann figured, especially based on the size of Anne’s pupils. She gave Anne’s hand a final kiss, then rebuckled her overalls. She pushed her wife gently back, hopped to her feet, wrapped her hands in that blasted coat and brought their lips together again. She backed Anne up, pressing their hips together and tracing her tongue in her mouth until her back hit the far wall, next to the refrigerator. Impatient, Anne wrenched open her own trousers. 

“Giving me a hint?” Ann teased. 

“Yes,” Anne answered, her lips ghosting over Ann’s, her hips pressing forward insistently. 

“Are you wet, my Pony?” Ann slid into her boxers. “All this? For me?”

“Yes.” Ann had a faint smile on her face.

Humming, Ann found her clit, circling gently and kissing her neck, her jaw, just behind her ear. Strong hands clutched at her hips, pulling her close, as Anne panted in her ear. She was close, Ann could tell, and it thrilled her. She’d barely done anything, and Anne was on the edge. Just being with Ann, it seemed, was enough to flood her boxers, send shivers down her spine, turn the normally composed Dr. Lister in a trembling heap. 

“Adney, yes,” she sighed as her hips jerked. “Oh, fuck, this coat.”

“This coat, indeed,” Ann purred, pulling her hand away. “Maybe you should wear it more often.”

“It’s too bloody warm,” Anne panted, shucking it and letting it drop to the floor. “Good heavens.”

“I have an idea,” Ann fastened her trousers. “Tonight, my Pony, would you wear this for me?”

“What?” Anne tucked a strand of hair behind Ann’s ear.

“Just the coat?”

“What?” Anne’s eyes widened.

“It’s hot.”

“And what? And nothing else?” Anne chuckled. “Come on.”

“I think it’d be sexy.”

“With my bare legs poking out underneath? Or my sock feet? Scratching up my behind? Adney.”

“You’re no fun.” Ann tilted her chin, demanding a kiss even if Anne was going to deny her idea. Anne leaned down, catching Ann’s chin between her fingers, and kissed her firmly. Whimpering, Ann pulled away. “Aunt Anne will be down soon.”

“You’re right,” Anne sighed, giving her one last kiss before releasing her. 

Their evening was picturesque, quiet and calm and full of soft laughter with Aunt Anne. They settled in the living room, some classic Christmas movie Ann had never seen on the TV. A few months ago, they’d bought a gigantic armchair for the two of them, and Anne and Ann were tangled up in it. More or less, Ann was in her wife’s lap, but she’d angled herself toward the television, letting her back rest against Anne’s chest. At first, Ann had been a little uncomfortable sitting so cozily in front of the Listers, but she didn’t mind anymore. The family knew how physical their relationship was - probably more intimately than anyone would care to admit. Anne’s lap was the most comfortable seat in the house anyway. 

When the doorbell rang, around ten o’clock, Ann was happy to answer the door. Jeremy had stumbled in a half hour earlier and gone immediately to bed, and Aunt Anne was dozing. Anne swatted her behind as she scampered to the front of the house. She thought maybe it was a package, drunk Marian, somebody lost and asking for directions. However, nothing could have prepared her for what she found on the doorstep.

Swaying slightly and holding onto the doorframe, Mariana Lawton looked like hell. Her hair was frizzy and dappled with snow. Her face was red, her eyes unfocused, and her brows furrowed in confusion. She wore tall boots and a tight skirt; her knees must have been freezing, Ann thought, as red as they were. A scarf hung limply around her neck, a red peacoat around her shoulders, and a thin jumper heaved with her uneven breathing. 

“Anne!” Ann called, taking a step backward. 

What the hell was she doing here? Anne hadn’t heard from her in months, or so she said. Hadn’t she learned her lesson, on that night back in August? Ann felt like a fool in her overalls and fuzzy socks, like some young girl who couldn't measure up to this sophisticated, worldly woman. In her mind, Ann knew she shouldn’t feel threatened. Hadn’t Anne screwed her in the kitchen just a few hours ago? Hadn’t she just, moments ago, held Ann close in the chair they’d bought for this exact purpose? Wasn’t this their home, their bed upstairs, their presents under the tree? 

And yet. 

Ann’s heart twisted with jealousy. Her stomach turned as Anne skidded to a stop next to her.

“Mary? What the hell?”

“Freddie,” Mariana slurred, “Happy Christmas.”

“It’s the 23rd,” Anne said stiffly, crossing her arms. Ann sort of thought Anne would put an arm around _her_. She took a step to the side, wondering if she should walk away entirely.

“We always spend Christmas Eve together,” Marian put an unsteady hand on Anne’s forearm. “Can I come in?”

With a sigh, Anne stepped aside. Ann followed suit, trying and failing to catch her wife’s eye. Put her in a cab, Ann urged in her mind, get her out of our house! But Anne did no such thing, instead leading Mariana gently up the stairs, one broad hand on her back. 

Ann wanted to be angry, honestly. She wished she could get all worked up and scream and throw things and maybe slap Mariana across the face. That would be better, wouldn’t it? Better than this gutless despair she felt. Certainly much better than the tears welling in her chest as she shuffled sadly to their bedroom. Infinitely better than the terror that dragged her down the hall and forced her to hover outside the open door to the guest bedroom. 

“This is incredibly inappropriate,” Anne was saying, her voice gentle and even.

“Freddie,” Mariana whined. “It’s _Christmas_.”

“Yes, and I’m _married_.”

“So am I.” Mariana sounded drunk. Ann thought she could hear the rustling of clothes; she clenched her fists. “Don’t be like this, Fred. That little girl wouldn’t even know.”

“She’s my wife,” Anne said stiffly. 

“She’s not, though, is she?” Mariana’s slur turned out a sneer; she sounded downright cruel. “She hasn’t married you yet. You still have time.”

“Damn it, Mary!” Ann jumped back from the door, startled by Anne’s sharp tone. “I don’t want time, I - I love her! I thought we settled this! Why the hell have you shown up, at my door, in the middle of the bloody night?”

“It’s Christmas,” Mariana said pathetically.

“So be with your husband!” Anne’s footsteps approached the door. Ann wondered if she should try to hide, go back to their bedroom, pretend she’d never hear any of this. “Where does Charles think you are right now?”

“Like he gives a damn! He’s with his brother, that blasted nephew he loves so much.”

“You can’t stay here, Mary,” Anne said firmly, her hand appearing on the door jamb. “It’s not fair to Ann.”

“Just tomorrow, Freddie, please. We can be friends. Please.”

“I don’t know -”

“Can we try? Please, Fred, you’re the only person I have who - the only person who cares about me.”

“I, uh, I’ll have to ask Ann. I have to think about it. I - Mary, I want to be your friend, but - but this? Just showing up? No warning? Dead drunk? Not a promising start.”

“I’m sorry.”

Ann watched her wife’s knuckles turn white as the other woman continued.

“But, Fred, you have much to thank me for. I hope we shall not cease to love each other in this world. I will try to deserve to meet you in the next.”

“I have to think. I have to talk to Ann.”

And then she was in the hall, closing the door gently, jumping back when she saw Ann. Neither of them spoke. Anne took her hand, and they walked slowly to their bedroom.

“I had no idea,” Anne said as soon as the door was closed. “Please, Adney, believe that.”

“I’m going to take a shower.” 

Ann felt empty, unable to think clearly, tired and sad and confused. She wanted a few minutes to think, on her own, decide how she felt. She could hear Anne flop onto the bed as she went into the bathroom. 

Lately, in therapy, she’d been working on trust. Trusting herself to make decisions, particularly at work. Trusting her money manager and her doctors and her back to hold her upright. Trusting Anne and their relationship. The holidays were difficult, and she always expected disappointment. She was usually right. But this year? This year she was working on trust. Trusting her new family to accept her. Trusting herself to allow their love into her heart. 

So far, so good. Until tonight.

Breathing deeply, she tried to focus on what she _knew_. 

1\. Anne Lister loved her. There was no point in denying that or doubting it. Questioning that basic fact was a waste of time. That wasn’t what this was about.

2\. Anne Lister had, at one time, loved Mariana Lawton. That was something she knew, in an abstract sort of way. Their love was different than the one she and Ann shared, but it was real. Why else would they have spent 20 years together? On and off, sure, but they kept coming back for a reason. 

3.Mariana Lawton was in her house, the day before Christmas Eve, drunk and coming onto Anne. Wanting to spend the next day with them. 

4\. This was the most important one: Anne had refused her. Without knowing Ann could hear, Anne had reconfirmed her commitment, had said she would need to consult Ann, had rebuffed the other woman. 

And so, as Ann stepped onto the bathmat, she felt surprisingly calm. Anne’s love for her was one of the few things she could be absolutely sure of. Her fidelity had never faltered in the past, and it didn’t seem to weaken tonight, even with Mariana’s feeble, drunken attempts. Did she want to share her first Christmas Eve at Shibden with Mariana? Certainly not. Would she do it if Anne felt it was important? Sure. She’d have Marian as an ally; that would help. Each of the Listers had told Ann, more than once, that they disliked Mariana. It wouldn’t hurt, necessarily, to serve as Mariana’s foil - the stark opposite, the upgrade, the better woman. 

Anne was scribbling furiously in her journal when Ann emerged, wearing only her boxers and undershirt. Slipping a threadbare flannel of Anne’s over her shoulders, Ann crept back into the bedroom, climbing gingerly onto the bed and kneeling next to her wife. 

“Do you want to finish, or do you want to talk?” Ann asked sincerely. She knew the importance of the journal to Anne, and she wanted to give her the space she needed. 

“Let’s talk,” Anne said, closing the journal with the pen still inside. “I really had no idea, Adney.”

“I know.”

“Do you?” Anne looked so relieved Ann thought she might cry. Maybe they both would. 

“I trust you.”

“Ann,” she groaned and tilted her head back, looking at the ceiling. “I don’t know what to do.”

“What was your first thought? When you saw her?”

Ann took her hand, toying with the fingers; it was a nervous habit of hers, but she also wanted to remind Anne that she was there. She wasn’t alone.

“I felt sick.”

“And then what?”

“I felt - I think, uh - I think pity. She’s drunk.”

“I wondered,” Ann nodded.

“We did, actually, used to spend Christmas Eve together. For the last decade or so. I can, uh, I can understand that she would come here without really thinking. If she’s drunk.”

“Right.” Ann didn’t want to think about the snowy, Christmas-y nights they spent together in this very room, while Ann was a few miles away, lonely and fretting about going to Scotland. “Do you want her to stay?”

“I don’t know,” Anne whined. “I don’t know. I wanted this Christmas,” she turned her head sharply to Ann, “our first Christmas together - I wanted it to be special.”

“Me too,” Ann said softly, pressing her lips to the back of Anne’s hand. “You don’t owe her anything, Pony.”

“I know.” Anne looked at the ceiling again. “But she’s right. I - I do have a lot to thank her for.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I do,” Anne said sharply. “I do.”

“Anne! What could you possibly have to thank her for? For years of disappointment and browbeating and stringing you along? For giving you so many complexes and such little self-esteem? Anne. Good God, I mean - how many times have you cried over her?”

“It’s not that simple.” Anne pulled her hand away. 

“I feel like it is.” 

If Anne didn’t want Mariana around, why wouldn’t she just send her away? How did that woman still have a hold over her? With a few drunken sentences, could she really undo all the progress Anne had made? Was her influence that great? With a huff, Ann pulled away, leaning against the headboard. She’d been so sure of this in the shower, but Anne’s reticence made her nervous. This was something different, not jealousy, but genuine dislike. Mariana had treated the woman she loved like garbage for years; Ann actually loathed her. She seemed like a bad person. Vain and haughty and self-centered. 

“This is what it is,” Anne started, her eyes closed, but her hand reaching out for Ann’s. “A few weeks ago, we went out with Catherine. Remember? And I came up here, and you were all snuggled up with Marian and Catherine. Do you remember that?”

“Of course.”

“I’ve been thinking about that ever since, and you know what? I don’t have any friends. Any proper friends. If I needed comforting, I would call you. Which obviously,” Anne opened her eyes and turned to Ann, “obviously would be my preference and would be more than enough for me.” Ann nodded. “But I don’t have a Catherine. I don’t even, really, have Marian. Tib is hopeless - I mean, she’s sober now, which is nice, but she lives so far away and we - we’ve never had an emotional relationship like that. Always physical and boasting and rowdy. I wouldn’t talk about my feelings with Tib.”

“You don’t talk about your feelings with anyone,” Ann said with a soft smile. 

“Right,” Anne smiled bitterly, “no I don’t. Mariana is the closest thing I have. And I wonder, um, I wonder,” Anne’s voice cracked, “if I’m really capable of it.”

“Anne.” Her heart broke. There was no one more gregarious than her wife, and she thought she was incapable of friendship? “Oh, Anne.”

“It’s just, um, I don’t get along well with men, you know, in general. It’s fine for business, but - anyway, and then every woman I know - I mean I’m always sleeping with them. I wonder if I can even be friends with a woman. With anyone.”

“Anne,” she said again, unsure what else to say. 

“You have Marian and Catherine and Elizabeth, and I have - I have my journal.” Anne shook her head. “It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid.” Ann turned to her wife, pressing her lips to her knuckles. “It makes sense.”

It did, really. Anne never led a conventional life, but she seemed to yearn for it. The home and marriage and friends. It was kind of cute. It was kind of heartbreaking. 

“Does it have to be Mariana?” Anne asked gently. “You could find someone else.”

“At forty?” Anne chuckled sadly. “I don’t know.”

“Tib, maybe? Now that she doesn’t drink? What about Vere?”

“I don’t know,” Anne said again. “Can we try? Just for tomorrow? With Mary, I mean?”

“If you want,” Ann said honestly.

“Thank you, Adney.” Anne turned to her, holding her face in her hands. “You know I love you, don’t you? More than I ever loved her.”

“I know,” Ann smiled. “Let’s go to bed.”

“Are you tired?” Anne brought their lips together tenderly. “Still early.”

“Pony,” Ann laughed, “talking about your ex, who is currently passed out down the hall, is not exactly sexy.”

“Hold on.”

Anne hopped out of bed, skidded into the closet, disappeared from Ann’s view. She heard rustling and then her wife reappeared: bare feet gave way to bare legs, then the dark grey of her greatcoat. She must’ve gone downstairs to get it while Ann was in the shower. Raising an eyebrow, Anne posed in the doorway. The wool parted, revealing her long, muscular legs, her flat stomach, the barest hint of her breasts. 

“Do I look ridiculous?”

“Kind of,” Ann giggled, “come here.”

Rolling her eyes, Anne bounded onto the bed, hovering over her and bracketing her hips with her knees. The dark coat surrounded her, and Ann reached up to tug at her collar, pulling their lips together. Anne kissed her slowly, one hand cupping her face, pouring emotions into her with every brush of her lips and stroke of her tongue. 

“You’ve been wearing a lot of my shirts lately,” Anne whispered, bringing her lips to the hollow of Anns throat and unbuttoning the flannel. “It’s so hot I can’t stand it.”

Ann could only sigh happily as Anne made her happy trek across her chest - over her breasts and along her ribs and across her belly. The greatcoat was hot, but Ann needed to feel her skin. She pushed it from her shoulders, and Anne sat up to drop it to the floor. Sitting back on her heels, she ran her hands up Ann’s calves, curling gently around her knees. 

“You make me a better person, Adney. Do you know that?”

Ann shook her head and blushed, embarrassed by the sincerity in Anne’s voice, the intimacy in her gaze. 

“You do. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“Be quiet.” Ann shook her head again, tracing her fingertips over Anne’s belly. 

“No,” Anne grinned, dropping forward and kissing Ann’s clavicle. “It’s the truth, and I’ll say it as much as I want.”

When Anne’s fingers connected with her center, Ann lost all coherent thought. Every retort or dirty word or breathless plea died on her tongue. It was all electricity - shooting out from Anne’s thumb to her clit, from Anne’s long fingers to her core, from Anne’s lips to her own. 

“Pony,” she moaned, breaking away and arching her back.

“Ann Walker,” she purred in her ear, “you feel incredible. Fuck, baby,” Anne moved faster, her hips grinding against Ann’s thigh, “I want you so much.”

“You have me,” Ann said breathless, pressing her breasts into Anne’s, hissing at the contact. 

“I want all of you,” Anne panted, pressing her hand harder, deeper. “Every day. Always.” Ann whined as her release lapped at her feet, Anne’s arousal soaking her thigh. “You’re so good, baby; you’re everything.”

Biting her lip, Ann surrendered to her climax, struggling to hold back the moans clawing at the back of her throat. Anne continued to pump into her, kissing her sloppily, grinding harder against her leg. Just as the first wave subsided, Ann felt her core clutch around Anne’s fingers, and then she was hurtling over the cliff again. Anne was in her ear, whispering soft encouragement as her strokes became increasingly gentle.

“Fuck, Pony,” she sighed, “oh, God.”

“Adney.” Anne’s hips bucked. “Please.”

“Oh, darling,” Ann traced her fingers through her wife’s arousal, finding the hard bud of her desire and strumming it quickly. “That’s my Pony.”

“Adney.” Anne sat back on her thigh, her hips moving in rhythm with Ann’s strokes. “Right there - oh - baby - I - fuck.”

“Don’t talk,” Ann forced herself upright, sucking at Anne’s neck. “I know, darling. I know.”

Anne’s strong body trembled in her arms; her breathless gasps filled her ears. This was special, Ann knew, the moment that Anne gave herself up to her touch. How often had Mariana done the same? Ann wondered. Was it ever as good as this? Ann suspected it wasn’t. Anne had told her as much, a few times. Besides, Ann thought as they kissed sloppily and caught their breath, commitment was a major turn-on for her wife. Loyalty and normalcy drew a direct path to desire for her. Anne craved it; Mariana had never given it to her. Ann had offered domesticity from the first day they were quarantined together.

“I love you, Ann Walker,” she said seriously. “Say the word, and I’ll kick her out. Even if you wake up tomorrow and decide against it. Just tell me.”

“Okay.” Ann kissed her once more before slipping away to get under the covers. “I think I can take her.”

“I bet you can,” Anne laughed, lying back against the pillows and pulling Ann into her arms.

“Besides,” Ann said, tracing her fingers over the new, purplish mark on her wife’s neck, “I’m looking forward to staking my claim.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> So that Mariana line (the one that sticks out so clearly) is from a recent Anne Choma tweet with the #1836, so I assume that’s when it’s from. That tweet, plus coming to Christmastime, made me think about Mariana and how she and Anne move forward. I went back and forth with her showing up for a bunch of reasons. Part of it is the scene from yesterday’s chapter with Ann, Catherine and Marian - Ann has platonic relationships in a way that Anne doesn’t. And I wonder if that would bother this modern version of Anne. IRL, she definitely kept up with her exes, but that’s different, you know? Since it was all a secret and they could kind of pretend it didn’t happen, that they were just friends. Also, this version of Anne feels very solitary, almost lonely - she has her work and the estate and Ann, but she doesn’t hang out with anyone else. Which is partly the author’s fault, but I’m trying to justify it. She has Aunt Anne, I guess, but that’s not quite the same. So I wonder what it would look like for those two to have a real relationship. 
> 
> That said, I am absolutely NOT steering them toward the actual events of Christmas 1834. I’m more interested in finding a way for them to grow up and to challenge myself as a writer. I’ve spent a lot of time (300,000+ words) bashing Mariana and comparing her unfavorably to Ann, so how can I redeem her? 
> 
> I don’t know. Is that dumb? Let me know what you think. Thank you!!


	33. Christmas Eve

“What,” Marian smacked her on the shoulder, “the fuck,” again, on the side of the head, “is wrong,” once more, “with you!”

“Marian, stop!” Anne cried, trying to lean away. It was difficult, at the breakfast table, because now she was leaning into Aunt Anne, who was poking her in the side with her cane. “Aunt, please!”

“What are you thinking, Anne?” Her aunt asked with a sigh. 

“Adney says it’s fine.” Anne shot a look to her wife, who was digging into her breakfast quiche with a mysterious smile. Was she enjoying this? “Tell them, Adney.”

“Of course she says it’s alright,” Marian said, her face red with frustration, “she’s a lovely, generous person. Unlike, may I remind you, the dragon you’re sheltering in the spare room.”

“Marian,” Anne whined, “I have explained this.”

“It doesn’t make any sense,” Aunt Anne chimed in. “Everyone in the house hates her.”

“Including you,” Jeremy said dryly.

“I don’t - nobody hates her,” Anne said defensively, “and keep it down, she could come down any minute.”

The Listers broke into laughter. Ann looked at her wife quizzically.

“Good one, Big Anne,” Marian put a hand on her shoulder, “as if Mariana has ever gotten up before ten o’clock.”

“You people are impossible,” Anne said stiffly, pushing her chair back. “Would you at least give her a chance? As a Christmas gift to me?”

“Then I’m returning what I already got you,” Jeremy joked.

Scoffing, Anne took her empty plate to the kitchen; Ann trotted in behind her.

“Don’t pretend you’re not enjoying this,” Anne said, taking her by the waist.

“Obviously I am,” Ann grinned, smoothing her hands along Anne’s stomach. 

“Thank you, darling, for letting me try.”

“I am compiling a list of demands.”

“Are you?” Anne purred, noticing the glint in her eye. 

“First, of course, is building a snowman.”

“What?” Anne chuckled.

“Come on, it snowed last night, it’s perfect. It’ll be fun.”

Bundled up, they trudged out into the wintery morning. Had anyone ever been cuter? Than Ann Walker in her giant coat, scarf piled high around her neck, poofy blue hat with a pom-pom bobbing on top of her head? She couldn’t resist grabbing her puffy hips and pulling her wife close, kissing her chilly lips soundly. 

“I won’t be distracted,” Ann put her mittens on Anne’s chest. “Stay focused, Pony.”

Laughing, she turned to scoop up a handful of snow; Anne shook her head and joined her. Together, they managed to roll a decently sized base, a wobbly middle, and an itty-bitty head. Anne poked her gloved fingers into the snow for eyes while Ann rushed inside for accessories.

“Where did you find that?” Anne chuckled as her wife plopped a threadbare top hat on the snowy head. 

“It’s your coat closet, Pony! I don’t know!”

Ann wrapped a scarf around the snowperson’s neck, then turned to her. 

“They look good, huh?”

“Oh, yeah,” Anne grinned, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “Looks great. This was a very good idea, my darling”

“So you won’t be mad?” Ann asked innocently, stepping away.

“What?”

“When I do this?”

Something cold and wet hit her in the face. Sputtering, Anne wiped her face and turned to her wife, who seemed exceedingly pleased with herself. 

“You know, of course,” she grinned, “this means war.”

Which is how Anne found herself in a snowball fight with Ann Walker in the middle of the morning on Christmas Eve. In the past, she never would’ve been caught doing something so childish. She would’ve been annoyed with Ann’s surprisingly good aim, disgusted with her own misses, embarrassed to be enjoying herself so much. Running and laughing and dodging, Anne felt certain she’d never been happier. 

“Ann Walker,” she growled, wrapping her arms around Ann’s waist from behind and lifting her into the air. “I am so sick of you being so bloody good at everything.”

Ann shrieked with laughter, struggling playfully against Anne’s grip. Anne buried her face in the soft warmth of her wife’s scarf, wishing she could get to her skin.

And then she saw Mariana. Shivering at the kitchen door, still in last night’s clothes. It occurred to Anne that she wouldn’t have anything else to wear. Setting her wife down, Anne kissed her cheek as they walked back to the house. 

“Good morning,” Mariana forced a smile. “I wonder, Fred, if I could borrow some clothes.”

“My clothes?” Anne asked, following her inside. “I thought you wouldn’t be caught dead in anything I own.”

“Desperate times,” Mariana said through gritted teeth. .

“I could lend you something,” Ann offered. “We’re about the same size.”

And this, Anne thought as they three climbed the stairs, was the difference between the two. Mariana wouldn’t even acknowledge her drunken pathetic self from the previous night, always treated Shibden with an air of disdain, as if it were her own house, but that she didn’t think much about it. And this was the thing about Ann Walker. People spoke frequently about how kind she was, how generous and sweet and good-natured, but they rarely saw it as clearly as this. It was easy to be generous by cutting a check or volunteering a few times a month. This? This was baffling. Ann was a genuinely good person. She could have fought Mariana or frozen her out or demanded she leave. She did none of these things, offering only grace and kindness instead. Anne had never felt so lucky.

“How about this?” Ann offered up a pair of jeans and a jumper. 

“You’ve redone this,” Mariana said, turning around in the closet. “It looks great.”

“Thank you,” Anne said genuinely, putting an arm around Ann’s waist. She was conscious of reminding Ann (and Mariana) of her commitment as much as possible; it was grounding, as well, to have Ann’s warm hip under her hand. “We actually did it ourselves.”

“Did you?” Mariana slipped the jeans under her skirt, a quick sleight of hand that spared all of them the embarrassment of Mariana in her underwear or the awkwardness of her going into the bathroom like a schoolgirl. “It looks good, Fred.”

The “Fred” thing should’ve bothered her more, but Anne found she didn’t mind. She was used to it, for one, but it also served as a reminder - why Ann was so different. So much better. Not that she minded a nickname, most everyone called her something other than “Anne,” but “Pony” was infinitely better than “Fred.” It was nice to be connected to something Ann loved (ponies), rather than be reminded of what Mary wished she were (a man).

“Mary!” Anne cried as she stripped off her sweater, leaving her in only a bra. Ann turned into Anne’s chest, burying her face in her jumper. “Good Lord, Mary, come on.”

“What?” Mariana smirked, pulling Ann’s sweater over her head. “We all have breasts, Fred. You’ve certainly seen these ones before.”

“It’s not appropriate,” Anne said sternly, rubbing her wife’s back.

“Oh, lay off it,” Mariana rolled her eyes. “Thank you, Miss Walker, for the clothes.”

Returning downstairs, Anne figured that was Mariana’s weak attempt at seduction. The smirk that used to drive her mad with want? It didn’t even bother her now. The creamy expanse of chest, encased in one of Mariana’s skimpy black bras? She barely even noticed. Well, she wasn’t blind. But in comparison to Ann? It wasn’t even a competition. Which, frankly, had very little to do with their bodies and much more to do with their connection. Mariana was still an attractive woman - wouldn’t this be easier if she looked like crap? Whatever spell Mariana had placed on her all those years ago? It appeared to be broken.

The living room was deserted by the time they arrived. Anne figured the family had probably cleared out, hearing Mariana coming. They never hung around and chatted with Mariana like they did with Ann. 

“Miss Walker, tell me,” Mariana dropped onto the love seat, “how do you like living at Shibden Hall?”

“I adore it.” 

Ann settled on Anne’s lap in their large chair. It was not lost on Anne that her wife was sitting on her knee so possessively in front of Mary; she was never so blatant with the family. Honestly, Ann might as well shag her right there. It might be less obvious. 

“I can’t imagine,” Mariana said, her voice dripping with false pity, “spending so much time alone. Does Fred still work as much as she used to? Long nights at the office. Wondering where she is. Waiting up all night. Alone in this creepy house”

“No,” Ann said simply, tracing her hand along Anne’s collar, her warm fingers sending shivers down her spine. “ _Anne_ is home early every night. I’ve actually never had that problem.”

Not entirely true, Anne thought, but the point was clear. She comes home for _me_ , Ann was saying.

“Will wonders never cease?”

“And I love this house.” Ann was tracing over the purplish spot Anne knew now adorned her neck; Mariana’s eyes were fixed to it.  
“Feels so much more like a home, you know? I hope you’ll come to our wedding out here in the spring.”

As they danced around each other in this way, Anne figured this was the femme version of a pissing match. Mariana trying to get under Ann’s skin. Ann matching her step for step. She might as well have erected a giant, flashing sign above Anne’s head that said “the girl is mine.”

“A wedding, really, Fred? I never thought you quite,” she sucked her teeth, “had it in you.”

“Mary, we can do this civilly or I can call you a cab.” Anne rubbed her wife’s back. “‘It’s the day before Christmas for heaven’s sake.”

For a moment, Mariana just stared at her. Anne stared back. A stand-off. Anne wouldn’t be the first to look away, that was for certain. Mariana had always had this hold over her, but she felt stronger with Ann in her lap. She squeezed her knee. Mariana looked away, her eyes traveling to Anne’s hand. Her face crumpled. How had Mary not gotten the message yet? Was overhearing them that night in the hotel not enough? Was seeing the changes in Anne as a person, in her clothes, in the newness of their closet? Was it not devastatingly obvious?

“I’m sorry,” Mariana sighed. “Old habits. Fine. I surrender.” She held up her hands. “Tell me about the estate, Fred; it looks like you’ve been doing some work.”

From there, honestly, Anne felt they passed a fairly friendly hour. Was it the most fun she’d ever had? No. Did Mariana try to undermine her relationship? Also no. That was progress, wasn’t it? Besides, Mariana remembered things and made references that even Anne had forgotten - old staff members and dingy restaurants and embarrassing moments. It was a bit of a reminder as to why she’d fallen in love with Mary in the first place - she could be quite fun to be around. She was dry and witty in a way that made all three of them laugh. Anne actually allowed herself to exhale as Ann sank to the floor to stroke Argus, the only member of the Lister family who bothered to show his face while Mariana was around. 

“Ann, darling,” she stroked the back of her wife’s head, “would you get me something to drink?” She didn’t want to leave Mariana and Ann alone together, but she was powerfully thirsty. “Maybe tea?”

“Anne,” her wife clicked her tongue, “I can’t get up.”

“What?” Anne laughed, looking down at her.

“I mean, look.” Ann gestured to Argus’s lazy paw, which was perched on her leg. “I can’t get up,” she said as if Anne were an idiot, “look at him.”

“Oh my God,” Anne scoffed a laugh and stood. “He might as well own this house.”

She moved to the kitchen, quickly making three cups of tea. It was strange, wasn’t it? To douse Mary’s with milk just how she liked it, and Ann’s with the heaping scoops of sugar she knew by heart. The two most consequential women in her life were currently sitting in the next room, possibly talking about her. And she, Anne Lister of Shibden Hall, was dutifully preparing their tea. She certainly tried to project strength and authority, but when it came to these women? She’d always been helpless.

“The blessing of the animals? That’s, like, the best episode!” Ann said happily, taking her cup without even looking at her wife.

“I like the one where she has to go to all those different Christmas lunches!” Mariana did the same, barely sparing Anne a glance as their fingertips brushed. The spark that used to pass between them? Nowhere to be found.

“What’s this?” Anne sat down, running the side of her socked foot along Ann’s back. 

“ _The Vicar of Dibley_ ,” Ann said, nudging her calf with her shoulder.

“That show,” Anne groaned. “I didn’t know you liked it, Ann.”

“I adore it!”

“She’d never let us watch it,” Mary said conspiratorially. “Even when the new special came out.”

“It has a laugh track,” Anne said with a roll of her eyes.

“It’s a good show,” Ann leaned back against her knees. “You’re no fun at all.”

They drank their tea and chatted innocently and easily - the weather, the holiday, the exorbitant price of plane tickets these days. Maybe this could work, Anne thought hopefully, maybe she was capable of friendship. That would be her New Year’s Resolution, she decided, even though she usually thought them trite and unproductive. In 2021 she would make a conscious effort to have more mature, platonic relationships. Reach out to Tib. Be kinder to the men in the office. Invite them around for dinner every now and then. With Ann by her side, she could handle it. 

“I’d better go,” Mariana said, standing up with a sigh. “Can I drop these clothes back by sometime?”

“You can keep them,” Ann said easily.

“Can I drive you?” Anne offered, hoping for a refusal. It seemed cruel to call her a cab, but Lawton was over an hour away. She’d rather hoped to steal away upstairs with Ann until it was time for dinner. 

“I can get a cab.”

“Anne,” her wife said sternly, “it’s Christmas.”

“What?”

“We’ll drive you,” Ann put a hand on her wife’s knee and used it to hoist herself upright. “Come on, darling.”

“She’s got you well-trained,” Mariana said with a smirk as they followed Ann to the front door. 

“That obvious?” Anne laughed. “Look at me, boots by the door.” She stooped to pick them up. “Would you believe it?”

“No, Fred, I wouldn’t,” Mariana said sincerely. “You’d never do that for me.”

“You were never around long enough.”

The drive to Lawton was - well, it was an apt analogy, wasn’t it? Anne thought as she looked at Mary in the rear view mirror. Ann in the front, Mariana forced to take the back. Not forced, per say, but it was all that was available. Ann had already claimed her spot. They’d taken Ann’s car, purportedly because of the heated seats, but Anne suspected this was another flex. As was the way Ann held her hand as they drove, the sticky-sweet tone as she asked about Charles, the repeated, silent message: “mine, mine, mine.”

“Thank you, Freddie,” Mariana said sincerely, “and you, Miss Walker. I hope we can do this again sometime. Happy Christmas.”

For a moment, Anne thought Mary might kiss her - on the cheek or something chaste - but it didn’t happen. She just squeezed her shoulder, a sad sort of pat, then scrambled out of the car. They watched her make her way inside, and Anne felt strange looking at the house she used to know so well. The best places to hide and the creaks of the guest bed and the fastest path out the back door. She used to feel envy and excitement and lust as she sat in this drive. Now? Not much of anything at all. Ann kissed her palm.

“That went really well,” she said softly.

“I can’t thank you enough,” Anne answered sincerely. “Seriously.”

“I still have that list of demands, Pony.”

“Do you?” Anne grinned.

“And I think the first, and most important, is taking me home.”

“Of course.”

“Making me a grilled cheese.”

“Grilled cheese?” Anne laughed.

“I’m craving it. And I bet we’ve missed lunch.”

“Sorry,” Anne said with a twinge of guilt. Christmas Eve lunch wasn’t necessarily special, but she still felt bad. “I’m sorry, I-”

“I don’t mind,” Ann said with a smile, “as long as you apologize in the way you usually do.”

“What do you mean?”

“When you apologize, darling Pony, you always want to have sex.”

“Do I?” Anne pulled out of the Lawtons’ driveway.

“Yes.” Ann traced her fingers along the back of Anne’s neck. “It’s part of your process.”

“Do you mind?” 

“Of course not.”

They both laughed, and Anne pressed the pedal to the floor. She needed to get home as soon as possible. Make that blasted grilled cheese. Then bury herself between Ann’s legs. Perhaps until morning. Or New Year’s. Valentine’s Day. 

“You _drove_ her?” Marian demanded as they returned. ”On Christmas?”

“Christmas is tomorrow,” Anne said dryly, “and it was Adney’s idea.”

“How’d it go?” Aunt Anne asked, following them into the kitchen.

“Adney? What’s your answer?”

“It was fine, Aunt,” Ann said, hoisting herself on the counter as Anne went about the grilling of the cheese. “She was perfectly civil.”

“Not from what I heard.” Marian was hovering in the doorway.

“Why don’t we get Father in here, and the whole family can interrogate us?” Anne snapped. 

“What did you hear?” Ann asked, putting a soft hand on Anne’s shoulder. 

“Some crack about Big Anne working too late.”

“Easily managed,” Ann said with a smile. 

“Seems you have it well in hand,” Aunt Anne laughed. “I’m going to lie down until dinner, hmmm? Since we’ll be up so late?”

“I might take a nap too,” Marian said, yawning and stretching. “That midnight service is a killer.”

Anne loved the late service on Christmas Eve, which actually started at eleven. A nap was probably in order, though, to be honest. But first: the sandwich. Then the lovemaking. _Then_ the nap.

“Thank you, baby,” Ann said, taking her warm sandwich from the plate and munching happily. 

“Thank _you_ , Adney. I can’t even - I can’t tell you how much it means to me.”

“She’s actually okay,” Ann said genuinely; “I know she’s not always been kind to you, but I think - I think she got the picture today. I can see why you spent so much time with her.”

“What do you mean?”

“She’s beautiful, of course,” Ann hopped to her feet, “but she actually is quite charismatic. Good at conversation. Funny when she wants to be. Not a bad way to spend a morning.”

“You’re the kindest, most generous, best person I know.” Anne took her by the hand as they walked upstairs. “Do you even - giving your wife’s ex your clothes? Spending Christmas Eve with her? You had every right to rip her hair out or scream at the both of us, but you didn’t. I can’t believe you mess around with me at all.”

“You give yourself no credit,” Ann shook her head and closed the bedroom door behind them; “it’s like you can’t even see yourself. Because you know what?” Ann teased open her wife’s trousers. “It was actually pretty easy, talking to her, having her here, because I feel bad for her.”

“Really?” Anne pulled Ann’s jumper over her head, running her hands along Ann’s torso, up to the clasp of her bra.

“I do,” Ann sighed as Anne trailed kisses down her neck and across her collar bones. “She missed out on so much - uh - oh on everything that I love - um - because - uh, because she let you go.”

“As much as I love this,” Anne cupped her wife’s breasts, “let’s not talk about her anymore, hmm?” 

Biting back a smile, Ann nodded. Her eyes danced with excitement as Anne walked her back to the bed. She sat on the edge, taking Anne’s face in her hands and pulling her down. Their lips met slowly; Anne tried to pour her gratitude into the kiss, making it deep and emotional and sensual. She dropped to her knees, pressing her face between Ann’s breasts, groaning as Ann held her closer. Inhaling deeply, she said a silent prayer of thanks. Then, of course, she got down to business - taking one of her wife’s breasts between her lips, the other in her hand. 

“Pony,” Ann breathed, her fingers tightening in Anne’s hair. Anne grinned against her skin; Ann always got so desperate when she touched her chest. “Oh, Pony.”

“Be quiet,” Anne sucked a light red spot on the swell of Ann’s breast. “Marian is trying to nap.”

“Oh God,” she groaned, flopping backward. 

Anne’s lips trekked down her wife’s ribs, across her belly, to the rough waistband of her trousers. She waited until Ann propped herself on her elbows, wild eyes confused at Anne’s hesitation, and then she eased the button free with her teeth. A high-pitched whine filled the room as Anne squeezed her hips and slid the zipper down in the same fashion.

“Seriously, Pony, how are you - like how can you - I mean, _God_.”

Anne could only grin as she slipped her trousers and panties to the floor. She nipped at her calves as she tugged off her socks. Her lips traveled across the tops of her thighs; her tongue traced along the crease where leg met torso. Then, blessedly, she spread Ann’s creamy thighs and inhaled the heady scent at the very core of her. She worked her way slowly along Ann’s center - teasing her folds and circling her clit and curling her tongue into her wet entrance. Ann’s hips rocked gently into her mouth, that slow sort of swirl that made Anne crazy. She could tell Ann had one fist in her mouth, the other clutching at the back of Anne’s head. 

Anne worked slowly, not in a teasing way, just wanting to prolong her wife’s pleasure for as long as possible. Ann was right, what she’d said earlier; a powerful orgasm was an integral part of her apologies. Not out of guilt or regret. Just - well, it was her way of showing love. Physical touch, that was her language, wasn’t it? What better way to express her devotion than to deliver her loved one to the sea of pleasure? What more could she say that her mouth couldn’t express directly to Ann’s center over the next forty-five to seventy minutes? Sure, her jaw would ache and her knees would creak when she stood up, but that was a small price to pay. 

In fact, it was nothing compared to the strangled moans and choked gasps coming from above her. Infinitesimal in comparison to Ann’s clench fingers and twisting hips. Absolutely, 100% worth it for the taste of her on her tongue. 

“Yes, Pony, I - fuck, Pony,” Ann managed - the most coherent words she’d managed in a few minutes. She was close, and Anne’s neck was starting to bother her. She enfolded Ann’s clit between her lips, sucking gently until she heard those three magic words: “yes, Pony, yes.”

The trembling, the shaking, the ecstasy - Anne felt it almost as viscerally as if it were her own. She held those slim hips steady as she eased every drop of arousal from her, until Ann pushed her head away with a groan. 

“Get up here,” she croaked.

“Let’s take a nap,” Anne said as she crawled up her slick body.

“Let me,” Ann panted, fumbling over her trousers; “take these off.” 

“It’s okay.” Anne kissed her softly. “Let’s rest.”

Really, it was okay. She was tired. Ann surely was too. They’d be up late tonight. Honestly, she would be just as happy curling into Ann’s side and falling asleep. 

And yet.

”Anne Lister,” Ann said, her eyes still closed, “when will we stop having this conversation?” She pushed her way into Anne’s shorts. “One day, you’re going to believe me when I tell you,” her fingertips found Anne’s clit, which now pulsed desperately, “that I love you.”

”Adney,” she breathed, rolling her hips into Ann’s touch. 

Suddenly, she was rather on the edge. How had she not noticed before? Ann Walker, she thought ruefully, always pulling the best from her. When had anyone seen through her so clearly? Sacrificed so much for her? Known what she needed before even she knew?

She came quickly - the waves crashing into her with that gentle speed that somehow only Ann could harness. She was never particularly rough, but something about her touch was different, heightened, extraordinary. Ann kissed her neck as her hips jerked and she mumbled incoherently. 

“Now, Pony,” she smiled sleepily, “now, let’s take a nap.”

So it wasn’t until later, after the nap and after dinner and after most of the service, that Anne returned to that train of thought - the one about Ann knowing her better than she knew herself. They were in their customary pew, Ann looking absolutely radiant in a dark green, silk dress, with the rest of the family like dolts beside them. They’d come to that part of the service, at the very end, when acolytes came round to light the slender candles each parishioner was given on the way in. The flames were spread and the lights dimmed, until the entire place was lit only by flickering candles. The congregation sang “Silent Night.” It was a little hokey, but Anne appreciated it. With it dark like this, no one could see her wipe away tears at the beauty of it. Mariana came with her most years, but this time, she had Ann’s small hand in hers as they sang. 

So she returned to that idea, that Ann knew what Anne needed before she herself knew. This time last year, Anne would never have suspected that she needed to pay a call on the shy and reclusive Ann Walker. Something had driven her there, and then Ann had taken over. At every step, Ann had given her what she needed - validation about her body, equal partnership, soothing words to heal a lifetime of bruises, trust and laughter and excitement and joy. This time last year, Anne thought she was happy. She had no idea that she needed Ann, until Ann presented herself. Built herself a home in Anne’s heart. Unlike Mariana (and Vere and Maria and all the rest), Ann set herself up to stay. Anne had thought she was happy playing the rake, the playboy, the skirt-chaser. Until Ann. 

She thought about the dead trees that stayed upright until a big gust of wind blew them out the ground. Nothing on the outside betrayed the weakness within; only certain people could tell that something was wrong. Only if someone knew how to look just _so_. They’d just cleared several such trees from the estate. She wondered if people were like that; some staying together just because there hadn’t been a strong enough wind to blow them apart. 

“Happy Christmas,” Ann whispered, kissing her cheek and bringing her back to the present; the lights were back on, and people were filing out of their pews. “Are you crying?”

“No. Happy Christmas,” Anne said, wiping her eyes.

It was after midnight, and the rest of the family made for the car. Anne always liked to speak to the priests at the end of the service; it seemed rude not to say anything at all. When she finally reached the end of the line, the grey-haired man shook her hand jovially.

“A pity we don’t have Mrs. Lawton this year,” he said kindly.

“Not a pity at all,” Anne replied; “what is a pity, though, is your interpretation of the Nativity scene, you see-”

”Anne!”

There she was - her tiny wife, wrapped up in her too-thin coat (“it goes with the dress, Pony!”), rescuing this foolish priest and beckoning her to their car, to their home, to their future.

As always, Ann Walker saved her from herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Lots of powerful feelings on the last chapter, which I really appreciate. Super cool to see y’all engage with the story this much. I hope you’re not disappointed with what I’ve done here. Basically, I wanted to show two things:  
> First, Ann Walker’s kindness is perhaps her most defining strength; I always think of Suranne on that couch, her face all bruised, talking about how good and sweet Ann is. I don’t think that makes her weak, rolling over for Mariana. If anything, it’s a powerful weapon against her. Kind of disarming.  
> Second, there had to be a reason why Anne loved Mary and stuck with her for so long. So she wasn’t a total monster. I wonder if, when she’s on the back foot, she could actually be good company.  
> Is that totally nuts? I like the growth it shows for all of them.
> 
> I guess, too, I’m still sticking with the “no angst” idea (then why did you even bring Mariana IN?? I ask myself). Perhaps I’m showing a rosier version than is realistic, but that’s sort of been this whole story. To quote Virginia Woolf: “I’ve just written, or re-written, a nice little story about Sapphism.” 
> 
> So, what do we think? Am I totally losing it? Thank you!!


	34. Christmas Day

“Happy Christmas,” Anne’s husky voice purred in her ear. “Wake up, darling.”

Anne’s body was warm against her back, pressing gently and rolling her hips; one arm slipped underneath her and palmed her breast over her shirt, while the other found the bare skin of her thigh and traced upward. 

“Happy Christmas, Pony,” Ann said sleepily, leaning back into her wife. “What time is it?”

“Eleven minutes past ten,” Anne whispered in her ear, her left hand sliding higher along her leg. “Practically noon.”

”It’s Christmas,” Ann giggled. “I thought we got to sleep in.”

This was the Lister tradition, apparently, to go to the midnight church service, then sleep late the next day, convening in the midday for buns and sweets and holiday movies. Then, in the evening, gorging on Cordingley’s dutifully prepared dishes before tearing into presents. There was some arcane ritual to the gift unwrapping, but Ann couldn’t remember it now. Not with the way Anne was nibbling at her earlobe, massaging her breast, and trailing gently across her stomach. 

“We do,” Anne teased, “but I want to give you your first present.”

“What is it?” Ann rolled her hips in time with Anne’s.

“This,” Anne laughed. “Right now. Can you think of anything better?”

“Maybe if you’d hurry up,” Ann turned her head over her shoulder, “and kiss me.”

Anne hummed, low in her throat, and brought their lips together. At the same time, her wandering fingers found the apex of Ann’s thighs. Breaking away with a gasp, Ann closed her eyes and leaned back into Anne’s strong body. She started with gentle strokes along her center, soft tweaks of her nipple through the fabric, slick kisses to her neck. It was maddening.

“Pony…”

“We have all morning.” Anne shifted to take her other breast in her hand. “Let me give you my gift,” she nipped at her jugular, “how I want to give it.”

With a groan, Ann surrendered to her wife’s infuriating, impossible, incredible torture. It was heaven, being wrapped in Anne’s strong arms like this, with that pleasurable flame building slowly between her legs. Anne’s skilled fingers worked her clit, her wet folds, her straining nipples. After what felt like an eternity, Anne shifted again, this time releasing her breast entirely to gain leverage, hovering slightly above her as she teased Ann’s entrance. Ann lifted her hips, pressing into her touch, desperate for her.

“Please,” she begged, “I need you.”

In lieu of an answer, Anne only nuzzled closer into her neck; Ann could feel her grin against her skin. Her long fingers reached up, sliding into her easily, filling her in the way only Anne could. They both moaned softly as Anne started slow, deep thrusts, each stroke curling over that perfect spot within her, her palm brushing against Ann’s clit. Reaching behind her, Ann dug her fingers into Anne’s hip - or side or whatever - she just needed to feel Anne’s warm body in her hand, needed to ensure they were as close as physically possible, needed to hold on for dear life. As she built up speed, Anne started to breathe heavily into her ear, little hums and grunts and moans with the effort. That, mixed with her own soft whines and quiet whimpers - Ann had never heard anything so erotic. 

Just like that, without any of their usual dirty talk, Ann felt the telltale shot of warmth along the base of her spine, the jerk of her hips, the contraction of every muscle in her body. Gripping tightly at her wife’s hip and forearm, Ann shot over the edge with a whine. Again, she could feel Anne’s wide grin against her neck as she drew more and impossibly more pleasure from her. With a final shudder, Ann exhaled, no longer human, just a pool of satisfaction, slick skin and a dopey smile. 

“Happy Christmas,” Anne said again, rolling her onto her back and kissing her softly. 

Ann couldn’t speak, not yet; all she could do was pant and stare up at the woman who had given her so much. Anne was curled into her side, one hand flat on Ann’s stomach, the other propped underneath her, toying with Ann’s hair; she had a strange face on - a mix of happiness and wonder and disbelief. 

“What?” Ann breathed, running her hand down Anne’s strong arm to the hand on her own belly. 

“I just love you.”

Ordinarily, Ann might tease her, something about already knowing this, about Anne’s being a sap, about it being obvious. Today, however, Christmas morning? She just tilted her chin. They kissed for only a moment. Anne’s face was warm in her hands, her lips impossibly gentle against her own. Pulling away, Ann wondered if she would cry from the sincerity in her wife’s eyes. 

“What’d you do for Christmas last year?” Anne asked quietly, almost shyly.

“Went to Elizabeth’s.” Ann tucked a strand of hair behind her wife’s ear. “They got up before dawn. She was still pregnant. We slept all afternoon.”

“I bet.” Anne smiled softly.

“What did you do?”

“Late church.” Anne toyed with the hem of Ann’s nightshirt. “Shagged Mariana. Not particularly satisfying, but - it was the best I could get. I was pretty sure it was about to blow up with Vere, so - well, then a few hours sleep then driving her back to Lawton. Back midday in time for the movies.”

What could she say to that? She could be jealous, she supposed, but she didn’t feel envy. Hadn’t she thoroughly trounced Mariana yesterday? Ann supposed she could feel sad for this hollow life Anne had led. They both had, she figured. Or, she thought, she could be grateful. That they’d been brought together. Extraordinary. Against all odds. Instead of saying anything, she just kissed her again. Splaying her hand across Anne’s strong jawline, she traced her thumb over her chin; Anne wrapped her arms around her middle. The perfect opportunity for Ann to roll them over. Anne laughed as her back hit the mattress, and Ann had no choice but to kiss her again. She chose, as she often did, to tease her.

“Anne Lister,” she grinned, sitting back and letting the sheets fall to Anne’s knees behind her, “were you on the rebound? When you appeared on my doorstep?”

“What if I was?” Anne’s broad hands flexed on her thighs, running up to her hips, then down to her knees, over and over. “75% of goals in hockey come off of rebounds.”

Ann stared at her, incredulous.

“Are you serious?”

Anne shrugged, grinning again. She was infuriating, wasn’t she? So smug and self-assured, when she’d just been so vulnerable. It was incredibly arousing. 

“You are, like, the prototype lesbian.”

“The prototype?” Anne laughed, lifting her hips as Ann tugged down her boxers. 

“Hockey? Pony. Come on.” Ann leaned forward, bunching Anne’s undershirt up so that she could run her lips and tongue across that firm stomach

“Stereotypes are very harmful, Adney,” Anne teased breathlessly. “Reductionist.” Ann sucked at the skin just below her belly button. “Distasteful.” She traced her tongue along her hip bone. “In my case,” Ann shifted backward and pushed her legs apart, “often true.”

Looking up at her under her eyelashes, Ann could only shake her head. She laid fully on her stomach, legs bent at the knee, ankles crossed in the air; Anne sometimes made fun of her for this pose, so childish for such an adult act, but Ann maintained it to be the most comfortable. She ran her hands over Anne’s strong thighs, dipping underneath them and curling upward to settle on her bony hips. She inhaled deeply, filling her lungs with the musky scent that was the essence of her wife.

“Adney…”

How similar they were, Ann mused, as her tongue traced through her arousal. The nicknames, the teasing, the libido. How lucky she was, she thought, that her perfect match lived just a few miles away. Anne’s knobby knees surely had been made to hook over Ann’s slim shoulders. There could be no doubt that her hips were built with Ann’s small hands in mind. The aching core of her? Certainly, God had crafted it to fit in Ann’s lips, under her tongue, between her teeth. 

“There,” Anne sighed, pressing her hand into the back of Ann’s head. 

In this case, “there” was her entrance, and Ann greedily dipped her tongue inside. Anne asked for this infrequently, only ever with Ann’s head between her legs, but, good heavens, Ann adored it. Breaching the velvety walls of Anne Lister was a thrill unto itself. A singular and intoxicating act. An honor and a privilege and - 

“Please,” Anne whined, “Adney, I - fuck, please.”

Sometimes Ann got distracted.

Shaking away her poetic musings, Ann set about the task at hand. She traced her tongue upward, finding Anne’s clit and taking it between her lips. Anne gasped above her, and she grinned. Oh, it felt good to be the cause of Anne Lister’s unraveling. She worked steadily, flicking her tongue and digging her hands into the overheated skin on Anne’s hips. With a deep groan, Anne lifted her hips and froze, her body juddering as her release washed over her. Gentle strokes and soft hums against her core eased her down. Finally, she dropped her hands onto the mattress, releasing Ann’s head. 

“Adney,” she breathed as Ann traced her way back up her slick body. “Good Lord.”

“Happy,” she pressed her lips to Anne’s slick belly, “Christmas,” to the hollow of her throat, “darling,” to her lips.

She’d intended it to be a soft kiss, slow and reconnecting and gentle, but Anne grabbed her head, holding her in place. It was deep, this kiss, hungry and demanding. Ann wondered if they’d ever go downstairs at all. Her wife’s fingers tangled in her hair, her tongue exploring her mouth, her hips pressing up into Ann’s. But then she pulled away, grinning widely. One more kiss, a soft peck, and then she released her. Ann flopped onto the bed beside her with a smile.

“What was that for?”

“Not sure,” Anne purred. “I need a shower,” 

“Me too,” Ann sighed, wishing she didn’t have to get up. 

They looked at each other in unison.

“I call first!” Anne said quickly, hopping to her feet.

Scoffing, Ann settled back under the covers. Anne always had to be first. Something about the amount of hot water Ann used…

As it turned out, Christmas at the Listers was just Ann’s speed. Very casual (the younger set wore modified pajamas - Ann wasn’t sure she could face Captain Lister in her shapeless nightshirt), lots of food (perhaps she’d never been so full), and plenty of merciless teasing of the Mistress of the Hall.

“Are you ready to cry?” Marian asked Anne in the late afternoon, changing the DVDs.

“Charlie Brown does not make me cry!”

“Of course not,” Aunt Anne said indulgently.

“It’s Linus that makes her cry!” Captain Lister laughed.

“Is that true?” Ann asked, toying with the collar of Anne’s pajama top. There was nowhere better, Christmas or otherwise, than Anne’s lap in their big, cozy chair. 

“No,” Anne said forcefully. “Nobody in this house gives me any respect.”

And yet, a half hour later, Anne was sniffing and tilting Ann out of her lap, mumbling something about needing another cup of tea. The rest of the Listers laughed as she left. 

“Poor thing,” Aunt Anne drawled. “Go easy on her, Marian.”

“Did you know what a crybaby she was when you agreed to marry her, Little Ann?” Marian teased.

“In the interest of my relationship, and on the advice of counsel” Ann answered playfully, “I am giving no comment.”

“That’s exactly right,” Anne said appreciatively, returning with two mugs and passing one to her wife. “Thank you, darling.”

“No tea for the rest of us?” Captain Lister asked incredulously. “On Christmas?”

“Try being nicer to me,” Anne said haughtily.

So, no, it wasn’t so bad, a Lister Christmas. A bit unconventional, maybe, but lovely. They settled in for _It’s A Wonderful Life_ , which drew tears from all present, and then Marian and Anne disappeared into the kitchen.

“Better let them have it,” Aunt Anne told her; “there’s no getting between the two of them.”

“You don’t think I should help?” Ann asked. 

“Definitely not,” Captain Lister chimed in. “They’d skin you alive.”

He then launched into a rather long story about an argument the sisters had had as girls, the hair-pulling and screaming and breaking-of-a-window. No wonder they’d sent Anne off to school, she thought, what a handful. 

“That’s what you’re getting into,” he said as he wrapped up. “Sure you’re ready, Smallest Ann?”

This was his special pet name for Ann, and she loved it most of all. 

“Of course she does, Jeremy,” Aunt said tersely. “She’s a smart girl.”

“You know, I’d agree with you,” he teased, “but she’s marrying that one. So I’m not sure what to think.”

“Come on,” Ann cajoled, “she’s not all bad.”

“No, no, she’s not,” he said thoughtfully. “She’s really the best of us, deep down. It wasn’t always obvious, under all the booze and women and neckties, but -”

“What my brother is trying to say is that you bring out the best in her. And we’re so grateful. Partly because we get to have you,” Aunt Anne rose to her feet, “and we get to have Antsy back.”

Of course it would be then, as the tears formed in her eyes, that Anne’s sharp voice cut into their conversation.

“Are you three going to eat or not? Marian and I have been working for _hours_.”

It had been less than two, but Ann was grateful for the distraction. Padding into the dining room, she was surprised by the spread. Casseroles, pudding, bread, a goose? Poor Cordingley. Anne kissed her cheek as she sat down, giving her a questioning look; Ann shook her head, just a bit, to let her know she was okay. 

It was all delicious, the food, the conversation, the warm embrace of a family. Ann hadn’t really had that since her parents died over a decade ago. She had the Sutherlands, sure, but it wasn’t the same. She always felt like a secondary character, a side actor in the story. With Anne and the Listers? She had never been so at home.

“Maybe I’ll die right here,” Marian said with a groan, pushing her empty plate away from her. 

“It was lovely, girls,” Aunt Anne said appreciatively. 

“And now,” Captain Lister pushed his chair back, “time for my yearly rent payment.”

Ann watched in disbelief as he cleared the table. She looked at her wife.

“Father does the dishes on Christmas,” she whispered. “Makes him feel useful.”

Ann nodded with a smile, following the women back to the living room. The tree was rather lovely, she thought, sitting on the floor next to it. She and Marian divided up the gifts beneath it, forming neat piles at each person’s feet. Ann was nervous for her own gifts, the ones she’d made for the family. Perhaps it was foolish, she worried, to give homemade gifts; everyone talked about how rich she was - shouldn't she have bought them all something expensive? Would they be disappointed that she hadn’t?

“Stop worrying,” Anne whispered in her ear. “Whatever it is, it’ll be great.”

It was, of course. Anne was always right. By the end of the evening, they were down to Ann’s carefully wrapped packages, all identical in size and shape, sitting obediently in the Listers’ laps. Next to her, Ann had a small stack of art supplies, a new sweater, a book (“you will _love_ it, Adney”), a few of those novelty board games. The Listers had been very generous, had treated her as one of their own. Which, she supposed, she was. 

“So, um,” she started, “you have to open them at the same time. They’re the same - well, they’re all different, but - they’re the same thing. Just - well, just do them at the same time.”

“Okay,” Anne smiled, reaching down to squeeze her shoulder. “Everybody ready?”

They tore into the paper in unison. A round of gasps. Then silence. Ann’s stomach dropped. She’d gone out on a limb, painting each of them a portrait. 

For Marian, she’d used a recent photo of the two of them at the soup kitchen; it was hyper-realistic, oils rather than her preferred water colors, but she was pleased with it. 

She used old photos for Aunt Anne and Captain Lister - one hazy photo of a young Aunt Anne and James outside of Shibden (this one in water color, sort of dreamlike and mystical), the other a family portrait, the one that hung in the foyer, of Jeremy with all of his children. Rebecca held the baby Jeremy in her arms, Anne and Sam scowled in their formal clothes, James held onto his father’s coat; Jeremy wore his military uniform. 

For Anne, she’d painted her that day at the university, when Anne wore the braces and the grey slacks; the day Anne had screwed her senseless on her desk. In the painting, Anne held _The Aeneid_ in one hand, her sleeves were rolled up, her face expressive and brilliant. 

They hated them, Ann thought forlornly, oh damn.

“Ann,” Marian breathed, “this is incredible.”

What?

“Wow,” Captain Lister said. “I, uh, hmm.” He wiped his eyes. “Right.”

Did they - was it possible?

“How did you do it?” Aunt Anne asked, her eyes sparkling. “His smile - the grounds - the - thank you, Little Ann.”

Her heart soared. She couldn’t stop smiling. 

There were repeated thanks and hugs and gathering of boxes. Ann turned to her wife as the family trundled upstairs. She still hadn’t spoken. Putting a small hand on her knee, she rubbed the soft cotton and looked up at her. Anne’s face was unreadable. She pressed her lips to the red and blue plaid. 

“Pony?”

“I don’t know what to say,” Anne’s voice shook. “I can’t, um, I can’t find the words.”

For a moment, Ann just rested her chin on her wife’s knee and waited. Tears glistened in her eyes as she fiddled with the painting. She watched Anne’s throat bob as she swallowed. Finally, she took Ann’s hand in her own and smiled, one tear escaping.

“Ann Walker. There has never been - no one else in my life has ever - there’s no one like you.” 

Ann smiled, pressing her lips to the back of Anne’s hand.

“In my whole, sordid past, no one has ever captured me. Body and soul. Literally,” she smiled. “And my family too. It must’ve taken you hours.”

“I enjoyed it.”

“I - Good Lord. I can’t - you know, you’ve set yourself up for next year?” Anne chuckled. “How will you follow up?”

“I’m not worried about that.”

“I love you so much, Ann Walker. Do you understand that? Do you know?”

“Of course I do, Pony. That’s why I did this. To show you how much I love you.”

Leaning down, Anne kissed her so fiercely and so deeply it made her head spin. She took the painting from Anne’s lap and put it gently on the ground before scrambling upward, bracketing her thighs with her knees. Ann wrapped her hands in the front of Anne’s shirt, rolling her hips as Anne’s tongue slid into her mouth. They broke away, chests heaving. Anne grinned.

“Do you want your gift?”

“You’ve already given me a gift,” Ann said, confused. “This morning,” she bit her lip, “and the book and the brushes.”

“Surely you can’t think that’s it.”

“You got me a private gift?”

“Yes.” Anne’s eyes danced with excitement.

“Me too.”

“Ann!” She cried. “You can’t paint me this bloody gorgeous painting and get me something _else_.”

“Give me fifteen minutes.” Ann kissed her quickly. “Then come upstairs.”

With a wink, she left her dumbstruck wife and raced up the stairs. She’d been hiding this box for weeks. Marian had helped her, keeping it in her room for a while, and Catherine had helped pick it out. She’d ordered three options to the house, consulted Cat over FaceTime, returned two, and settled on this one. There was no way she could’ve tried this on in the store. 

Her “private” gift to her wife? On this, their first Christmas together? Lingerie. For herself. So, really, it wasn’t a gift. Well, it kind of was. The image of herself, the pink lace and ribbons and garters - that was the gift. The incredible sex they’d have - that was the gift. 

Her fingers shook as she worked the tiny clasps to the pale pink stockings. Catherine had, saucily, suggested she wear _only_ the garter belt, but she was too embarrassed. It was one thing to present herself in her panties, another to be, just, _out there_. She’d settled, instead, on lace, hip-hugging panties, the garter belt snug around her waist and hanging down to her thighs. She looked at herself in the mirror - were those really her breasts? This bra was performing miracles. She shook out her hair, letting it fall naturally over her shoulders. Stepping into the pale pink heels she’d bought for this occasion, she felt like another person. Like a stronger, sexier version of herself. Her breasts strained against their confinement, high and pressed together and - Good Lord, were they really _hers_? She pulled out the strap, set it casually nearby, the cock standing proudly in the air. Just in case.

“Adney?” Her wife called. “I was just talking to Aunt, and -”

Anne stopped in her tracks, frozen in the doorway. Ann smiled shyly and raised her shoulders. For a long beat, Anne did not move a muscle. Only her eyes traveled across her wife’s body, lingering on her breasts, the belt, the stockings, the heels. Then she licked her lips. Closed the door. Growled. 

“Ann fucking Walker.”

Giggling, Ann held her arms out, laughing outright as Anne lifted her up and pressed her into the door jamb of the closet. Their lips crashed together as Ann wrapped her legs around her wife’s waist, her back arching against the cool wall. Pulling away, Anne seemed to speak directly to her breasts.

“Holy _fucking_ hell, Ann. How did you - when did - Good Lord.”

“Happy Christmas, darling.”

Anne’s hips rolled against her. 

“I am going to fuck you so hard tonight.”

“That’s the idea,” Ann grinned, her core clenching at Anne’s words, her strong hands kneading her thighs, the warmth of her breath on her neck. 

“I have to look at you.” Anne set her down. “I have to remember everything.”

Ann felt partially embarrassed under Anne’s hungry gaze. But when Anne dropped to her knees and pressed her lips to the strip of skin between the garter belt and her panties? Ann had never felt so powerful. She traced her fingers through those dark locks, sighing softly.   
Pulling her panties to the floor, Anne mouthed her way along Ann’s inner thighs, along her folds, settling over her center. At the first swipe to her clit, Ann gasped, leaning back into the wall as her knees buckled. Anne worked one finger inside, her free hand kneading Ann’s hip, her tongue caressing Ann’s clit. Soon she was stretching her with two - maybe it was three - Ann couldn’t focus, couldn’t concentrate on anything but the warm, wet perfection between her legs. With a shudder and whine, she came, sagging forward onto Anne’s still-moving head. 

“Wait right here,” Anne whispered, pressing her lips to Ann’s belly. “I’ll only be a moment.”

She tugged off her clothes urgently, ten seconds or less, and she was naked, hopping into the harness and wrapping Ann in her arms again. 

“That was fast,” Ann purred, draping her arms around her neck. 

“No time to waste.”

Then she lifted her again, pressing her into that same, now-damp-with-sweat door jamb. Anne’s fingers dug into her skin, the bare strip of thigh above the stockings. Their lips met urgently; Ann shoved her tongue into her mouth, desperate for a taste of her own arousal, for the heady, intoxicating proof of their lovemaking. Anne broke away with a groan, fixing her eyes on Ann’s heaving chest once more. 

“I may rip this whole thing off of you before the night is over.”

“Good,” Ann breathed as Anne dove between her breasts. 

Her long nose pressed between her cleavage, her lips sucking gently over the swell of her breasts. Gentle hums vibrated against Ann’s skin, and she suddenly felt desperate for Anne to be inside her.

“Pony, don’t make me wait.”

With a devilish grin, Anne wrapped a hand around the base of her cock, coating it in Ann’s arousal before pushing slowly forward. Ann’s teeth dug into her lip as she tried to hold in her cries. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. 

“Marian’s wearing her earplugs,” Anne whispered in her ear as she eased out. “She told me as much when I came up here. She seemed to know,” she pressed forward, “what you had planned.”

“Oh, Pony,” Ann moaned, still soft but a little more free. “Don’t tease me.”

“No?” Anne kept up her slow, deep rhythm. “What if I want to drag this out? It’s my gift, isn’t it?”

“No, baby,” Ann shifted her hips as the cock hit that perfect spot within her, “I can’t, please, Pony, please.”

“As you wish,” Anne said into her neck. 

With that, Anne was off. She sped up incrementally, adjusting her stance to pound into Ann with force. Ann grappled with the slick skin on her shoulders, high whines escaping her lips with every thrust. She was lost, nothing more than a collection of nerve endings that Anne caressed and stroked and slammed into smithereens. Teetering on the edge, she tilted her chin to meet Anne in a sloppy, desperate, wet kiss. Breaking away, Anne breathed in her ear.

“Touch yourself.”

She did - she had to - there was no other option. Finding her aching clit, strumming it frantically, moaning as her desperate fingers slid over Anne’s cock as it stretched her relentlessly? Bliss. Pure and simple. It was too much, too excellent, too perfect to say anything as she dove back into the warm waters of her release. All she could do was tremble in Anne’s strong arms.

“Oh, Adney,” Anne kissed her way along her collar bones, “oh, my darling.”

After a few moments, Anne lowered her onto her shaking legs. Ann stepped toward the bed, but her wife tugged her backward, toward that armchair in the corner. The one they used to pile clothes on, to lean against and tie their shoes, to sit in and watch lasciviously. Well, the last one was only Anne. Only when Ann was getting dressed. Usually after a shower. With one swift move, Anne pulled her onto her lap, catching her lips and running her hands up and down her back. The cock was warm and wet between them, pressing into their bellies. 

“Fuck, Pony, give me a moment.”

“Anything, baby,” Anne purred, kissing her clavicle softly. “Gives me more time to admire.” Ann laughed breathlessly. “Your tits, Adney, really. It’s like the first time I’ve ever seen them.”

“You have a problem, Pony,” she teased. “You’re, like, obsessed with them.”

“I’m obsessed with you.” Anne’s lips ghosted over hers. “What would you do if I,” she traced her index finger over the bit of lace connecting the cups, “damaged this? Just a bit?”

“We can buy another one.”

“We can,” Anne purred, pressing her lips to Ann’s lips, then her chin, the hollow of her throat. “A very happy Christmas indeed.”

Ann leaned back, watching Anne make her way down her chest, soft kisses and gentle strokes of her tongue leading to that tiny stretch of lace. She took it between her teeth. Ann’s jaw dropped. Anne grinned, then pulled back, tearing the lace clean in two. 

“Pony,” she gasped. 

Then those grinning lips were surrounding her breast, that fiendish tongue flicking her nipple, while one broad, soft hand teased her the other. Fresh arousal surged between her legs as she clutched Anne’s head, holding her closer to her panting chest. The air was thick with sex, with Anne’s growls and her own whimpers, with the pulsing desire connecting them. 

“Fuck me, Pony,” she whined. 

But that dark head only shook as Anne switched spots, continuing her slow, methodical, determined worship. Ann started to worry she would explode from frustration before she could come. 

“Ready?”

Ann could only moan as strong hands wrapped around her hips and lifted her up, and then, of course, she could only moan again, a sort of deep, strangled sound, as she sank down onto Anne’s cock. She shifted as the inside of her thighs met the warm leather of the harness; shocks of pleasure shot up her spine, into her gut, down all the way to the soles of her feet. 

“Ready?” Anne said again. Ann nodded. “These stockings,” they started a gentle, shallow rhythm, “these shoes, fuck, Adney.” She lifted Ann higher, bringing her down harder, twisting her hips with every thrust. “You’re incredible. You’re amazing. You feel so good.”

“I do,” Ann whined, and she thought she heard Anne chuckle. “Feel so good, Pony. Fuck, I -”

Anne’s thumb connected with her clit. A tremor shot through her, every cell in her body screaming for release. She forced herself up, slamming herself onto Anne’s cock over and over, balancing on Anne’s broad shoulders, even as her arms shook with every press to her clit. She tossed her head back, moaning softly with every thrust, Anne’s head buried in the crook of her neck. Picturing them, from above, she bit her lip to avoid screaming. Was there anything better, hotter, dirtier than this? Anne’s dark head pressed into her flushed chest, one broad hand squeezing her hip, the other working over her clit. Herself, head thrown back, blonde hair cascading behind her, breasts bouncing with every movement and still glistening from Anne’s mouth, heels and stockings still clinging to her legs and feet.

“Oh, fuck,” Ann whined, feeling the first wave of her climax.

“That’s it,” Anne growled against her chest. She spanked her once, crisply. “Come for me.”

Obviously, she did. What choice did she have? It was a miracle she’d lasted this long at all. Anne’s thrusts slowed, softened, until she was almost entirely still, stroking her with the barest touch, the tenderest fingers imaginable. 

“Adney, darling,” Anne panted. “I’ve never seen anything more beautiful.”

“Anne,” she managed, her eyes still closed. “Oh, God.”

“I think,” Anne cupped her tender breasts, her thumbs brushing over her nipples, “this is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Ann could only exhale a laugh, her orgasm still coursing through her veins as her eyes slid open. Her wife’s eyes were wide, her lips parted, her tongue darting out to wet them. Wrapping her hands around her head, Ann brought her closer, kissing her breathlessly and slowly and deeply. With a soft sigh, she rose up on her knees, letting the strap ease out of her. She kissed Anne again, then her collar bones, then quickly over the swell of each breast. Sliding down to the floor, she knelt between Anne’s legs, curling her hands into the bends of Anne’s knees and tugging her forward. 

“Adney.”

“Do you think,” Ann ran her tongue along the underside of the strap, groaning softly at the taste of her own arousal, “you could come,” she pressed her lips to the head, “like this?”

“Ann.”

“D’you want to try?”

“Yes, fuck, Ann, yes.”

Grinning, she dropped her head, humming at the weight on her tongue, angling to press the cock against Anne’s center. Anne’s hips lifted, chasing her release. Ann knew she was close, knew her clit must be screaming, knew this was the best chance for this to work. 

“Ann, Ann, I-”

She stretched taut, her hips pressing up into Ann’s mouth, almost gagging her as she trembled through her climax. It was kind of incredible, Ann thought, borderline unbelievable. 

“You’re amazing,” Ann whispered, nuzzling into her thigh and fiddling with the buckles of the harness. “Incredible.” She tugged the strap down, leaving Anne’s core bare. “Mine.”

“Come on,” Anne breathed, tugging her up right. “Come on, come on, come on.”

She pulled her urgently to the bed, pushing her back onto the pillows with that fiendish grin. Anne dropped onto her knees between her spread legs as Ann tossed off the ruined bra. Anne eased off one of her heels.

“When I came in here,” she pulled off the other, “and I saw you,” she unclipped one stocking, “I thought I had died,” she rolled the stocking down her leg, following the path of her hand with her lips and tongue. “Gone to heaven,” she unclipped the other. “But really,” she rolled the stocking down, her mouth leaving tiny fires in her wake, “I feel that way most days.” Her lips connected with the skin just above the garter belt. “Because you, my darling,” she unhooked it, leaving Ann fully naked, “are an angel.”

Blushing, Ann wrapping her hands around Anne’s neck, bringing her close and kissing her soundly. With a gentle pop, they parted, eyes locked in anticipation. Ann knew what came next, when Anne looked at her like _that_. She twisted her own hips, allowing Anne to intertwine their legs and align their cores.

“This gorgeous and dirty angel,” Anne teased, “and I love you.”

Their slick centers pressed together, sending twin moans into the air. Anne dropped onto her forearms, bending to suck at the juncture between Ann’s neck and shoulder. Their hips ground together in perfect harmony, building the exquisite fire between their two bodies. Ann couldn’t believe it, the things that her body could do, the things that Anne’s body could do, the way they could fit together. This time last year, she’d never known greater pleasure than the touch of her own hand, and now, she was buying lingerie and strap-ons and shagging Anne Lister, the woman of her dreams, in their bed on Christmas. What a year. 

“Pony,” she sighed, smiling happily at the perfect, sweet, delicious release coiling in her gut. Earlier, her climaxes had been rough and hot and overwhelming. Now, she was swimming happily in the warm, gentle waters of pleasure. “Please, Pony, touch me.”

She did, of course; she always did. Her fingers found the perfect rhythm, just how Ann needed it. Those warm, gentle waters? They pulled Ann under, seizing up her muscles and arching her back and sending dirty moans from her lips. Vaguely, she was aware of her wife’s heavy breathing, and she managed to snake a trembling hand between them. It was incredible, wasn’t it? That she could find Anne’s clit so easily. That just a few strokes would send her over the edge as well. That they could swim in those warm, gentle waters together. Had two people ever been more perfectly matched?

“Oh, Adney,” Anne sighed, flopping onto her back. “Good God.”

“I know, Pony, you were -” Ann twisted her hand in the air.

“Seriously,” Anne chuckled, “and then when you-”

“Oh, fuck,” Ann laughed. “Oh, man.”

“Exactly.” Anne lifted one leg in the air, twisting her hip until a loud crack filled the room. They both laughed. “Oh, I love you, my darling.”

“I love you,” Ann grinned, rolling onto her side and into Anne’s chest. “Wait, where’s my present?”

“Was that not enough?” Anne teased, squeezing her ass playfully.

“You said you had another present for me,” Ann pouted, tracing her finger over Anne’s collar bone.

“Oh fuck!” Anne shot up, leaving Ann tumbling back into the sheets. She opened the nightstand drawer and pulled out her journal. Flipping through, she found a thick, white envelope. She smiled shyly, “Happy Christmas.”

Ann tore open the envelope and scanned the papers inside quickly. What was this? Reservations, dates and times - was this -?

“We’re going to Paris?” She looked up into her wife’s handsome, grinning, shining face. “For New Year’s?”

That grin crashed into her own, and before she knew it they were tangled up again, laughing and kissing and falling into the pillows. What a year, Ann thought as they wrapped the covers around their sweaty, sated bodies; how had all of her dreams become reality in less than a year? 

“I love you, Anne Lister.” 

She’d said this a million times: in her sleep, in her teenage diaries, in her hormone-fueled fumblings alone in her bed. But to hear those words back? One year ago, she couldn’t even dream it. 

“I love you, Ann Walker.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> So here we are, end of Autumn Term. We’ll pick up with Spring Term tomorrow. Even though, technically, they’re on break, I feel like New Year’s goes with the spring, right? That’s how I divide it up in my mind. 
> 
> Another ridiculously long story completed ✅ wow wow wow. Really, this is crazy to me. That I’m doing this at all. That anybody is interested in reading It. That y’all leave such generous and thoughtful and kind comments. I really do appreciate every single one. 
> 
> On to the next! We’ve got NYE, the wedding, I’m thinking more Tib, Adney doing some Research😉, the typical kind of shenanigans we get over here. What do y’all want to see in the spring?


End file.
